


White Collar: All or Nothing

by Phoenix_crysg1



Category: White Collar
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Gen, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:07:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 41
Words: 80,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6345190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_crysg1/pseuds/Phoenix_crysg1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Neal is tricked into pulling off a heist he has to figure out who conned him and why before it ruins any chance he has with an early release from the FBI. This is an Alternate Universe due to Alternate Ending to 'Diamond Exchange'.  I was not overly thrilled with how White Collar ended as a show so I came up with a new ending. I'd love to say more...but 'spoilers'. ;) I promise plenty of fun, crime, angst, bromance, everything that made White Collar a great show.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is complete so I am going to be updating it fast as I have started the sequel. If this is well received on this site I will upload the sequel as I write it once I get this one caught up.

White Collar: All or Nothing

Chapter One

"I can't believe I'm doing this..."

Shaking his head sadly Neal laced his fingers into the large air vent grate and yanked it off. Standing on the industrial type roof top Neal cringed at the amount of noise the metal had made while coming free. He held his breath for a moment as he waited to see if the alarms would instantly be triggered by the sound. It was a cool clear night and although the moon was new there was plenty of light from the city to illuminate the scene.

Looking around at some of the taller buildings Neal felt exposed to prying eyes. Even though it was two o'clock in the morning one never could tell who was still awake. At this point getting called into the police by some random witness would be disastrous.

"Not to mention embarrassing."

Convinced that his rummaging on the roof had gone unnoticed Neal carefully slipped into the air conditioning system. He felt it was terribly cliche to be sneaking into the air ducts, but it was the weakest point of security of the museum. Moving through the metal ducts however was not as easy as the movies portrayed it to be. Wearing a pair of latex gloves to avoid leaving fingerprints along his path Neal crawled painfully slow through the narrow duct work. The hardest part was moving without banging against the metal walls. Even the softest touch seemed to echo through the hollow works.

Neal took his first opportunity to escape the duct system and ended up in the upper restoration room. Now inside he took a moment to collect himself. He reached up and rubbed at his right shoulder which was starting to bother him. Looking around he found that there was nothing of particular interest in the restoration room at the moment. Anything of value was taken off the work stations and placed in the vaults at night. Going over to the door Neal pressed his ear against it to check for anyone walking through the hall. Being a smaller facility there was only one guard.

Stepping out into the quiet hallway Neal made his way over to the stairwell. The door to the stairs held the first true obstacle in the form of a coded lock. Prying the front panel off Neal inspected the wiring. Tisking in disapproval of the simple system he clipped one of the wires and the door lock popped open.

"This is just sad, they might as well have left the place unlocked."

Not overly interested in looking a gift horse in the mouth Neal stepped into the stair well. Circling down to the second floor Neal peered through the small glass window in the door just in time to spot the guard walking by. Pressing himself against the wall he held perfectly still in hopes that he hadn't been spotted in return. The guard kept walking, the sound of his shoes against the marble floor receding into the distance. An earlier recon mission had revealed that the guard spent a majority of his time on the first and second floors of the museum where the displays were kept. He had a regular pattern that he walked so now that Neal knew where he was he had a good idea of when he'd be back.

While he waited for the guard to put some distance between them Neal clenched and relaxed his right hand to help with the tingling that was creeping into it. Shaking his hand out Neal did his best to ignore it. Suddenly wanting to get this job over with Neal left the safety of the stair well and crept out into the hall. He had the lay out memorized and quickly found the room that held the display that he was after.

There were two cameras in the room that swept back and forth slowly from their positions in the corners of the room near the ceiling. Neal had visited during the day and timed out their motions calculating the angles and blind spots. Whoever had set them up had done a decent job of covering the main display in the center of the room. Luckily it was one of the smaller cases off to the side that Neal was interested in and it was not nearly as well protected. Moving carefully through the room he stepped up to the case and started counting down in his mind the forty-seven seconds that he had before the camera swept back past.

"Hello, Beautiful..."

Neal chuckled as he peered down through the thick glass at the prize he was after. Working quickly he pulled out a small tactical knife and dug the tip into the seam of the black cabinet that the glass box was resting on. He cracked open the front facade and laid it on the floor. Inside the cabinet he was able to get a look at the security system that set off the alarm if the glass was moved. He had brought along a small variety of tool options to deal with the system once he knew what he was up against. In this case all he needed was a small strip of magnet which he happened to have.

Reaching up under the cabinet Neal felt out the small metal box that was on the underside of the cabinet. Hidden in the wooden lip that framed the glass box on top would be a magnet that rested over the metal box. Inside that box was a switch being held up by the magnet connected to the glass case. If the case was lifted the switch would drop completing a circuit that set the alarm off.

Neal slid the thin powerful magnet that he had brought under the wooden lip of the frame. The magnet that was already there helped pull the thin magnet into place as the pair stuck together. Using the knife Neal slid the blade between the two magnets to make sure the one he had placed would stay stuck over the switch while he lifted up the edge of the glass case. The magnet held the switch in place and Neal was able to tilt the box up and reached inside to claim his prize.

Closing his hand around the small golden object Neal picked it up off the velvet pillow. As he drew his hand back a sharp stab of pain like an electrical shock raced down his arm and forced him to drop the delicate work of art. Acting on instinct Neal released the glass case with his left hand and snatched the treasure before it could hit the ground and shatter. The case fell back into place with a bang that seemed to echo out into the hall. Neal winced at the sound, but the glass hadn't broken and the alarm didn't sound.

"Sloppy, Caffrey." Neal muttered to himself.

Placing the ill gotten goods into his pocket Neal pried the knife out from under the edge of the case leaving the thin magnet behind. Reaching up he rubbed at his shoulder and muttered a few choice words under his breath. The pain wasn't constant, but it did seem to have a way of flaring up at exactly the wrong time. Once again forcing it out of his mind Neal headed out of the room just as the camera came back around.

Getting out was a lot easier than getting in. Heading down to the first floor Neal went straight to the loading bay area in the back of the museum. The emergency exit was impossible to tamper with from the outside, but was easily disabled from the inside. Stepping out into the cool New York night Neal made a few mental notes on the over all security of the building or rather the lack there of.

"Nice night for it."

Neal jerked slightly at the sound of Peter's voice.

"Peter." Neal greeted as he turned around and offered Peter a bright smile. "Isn't it a little past your bed time?"

"Hours and hours."

"Well you didn't have to come out here, it could have waited until morning."

"I thought checking your pockets now might be a good idea."

"Peter," Neal said in a mock injured tone "I'm insulted."

"No you aren't."

Neal chuckled and reach into his pocket and pulled out the golden egg he had taken from the museum and handed it over to Peter. Peter held up the egg so that it caught in the cold white street light. Far from being encrusted in jewels the shell was bedazzled with garish glitter and a variety of plastic stones and sequins.

"Ah, it's beautiful." Peter admired

"It's...different." Neal rolled his eyes. "Did you decorate it yourself?"

"El helped."

"Of course she did. You going to keep it on your desk?"

"I might."

"In any case, the museum clearly isn't anywhere near ready to host the real Faberge Egg."

"Think you can have them ready within a week?"

"Probably not to the point where I can't get it, but certainly to the point to at least present a challenge."

Peter took a breath to say something but he thought better of it. A gust of cold wind swept through the alley they were in causing Neal to shudder. Neal's breath hissed across his teeth as his shoulder acted up again. Gritting his teeth he resisted the urge to reach up and press his hand against it, instead he slipped his hands into his pockets. Peter looked at Neal with a look of paternal concern.

"I'm fine." Neal said in an exasperated tone.

"I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"Are you sure you're all right?" Peter asked worried.

"I'm not answering that question again."

"If you need to ta..."

"Good night, Peter."

"...good night, Neal." Peter sighed.

Neal turned away from Peter and headed off down the street towards his apartment. He heard Peter offering him a ride home but he just waved him off. It wasn't far and the last thing he wanted right now was to be trapped in a car with Peter knowing that he was going to press the issue. He felt the walk home would help clear his head better than any uncomfortable conversation.

Getting to his apartment Neal had hoped that he would be tired, but looking around the empty room he found himself wide awake. It was three thirty in the morning, that time when it was too early to be up and too late to go to bed. Looking down at his jacket Neal noticed a shimmering gold dust against the black suit.

"Glitter...great." Neal grumbled. "This stuff is a nightmare."

Neal tried unsuccessfully to brush the glitter off his jacket for a minute before giving in. He shrugged it off and abandoning it on the floor. Feeling the all too familiar ache burrowing into his right shoulder again Neal reached up and rubbed at it. Going into the bathroom he opened the medicine cabinet and took out an orange pill container. Shaking two of the white pills into his palm he paused before doubling the dose to four. Tossing the medication past his teeth Neal turned on the tap and cupped his hand under the water to wash them down.

Bending down to drink from his palm Neal swallowed the bitter pills before splashing the cold water on his face. Reaching out blindly for a towel he pulled it off the near by rack and buried his face in it. Looking up into the mirror Neal became lost for a moment in his own reflection as his thoughts drifted to the past. Unbuttoning the top few buttons on his shirt Neal pulled it to the side to reveal the starburst scar that now marred his shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, Rachel. It shouldn't have ended that way..."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_"Neal!"_

_"Peter, no! Wai..."_

Neal jolted awake to what he could have sworn was a gun shot, but when the noise repeated itself it was nothing more than someone knocking on the front door. Panting heavily Neal's skin crawled with the feeling of cold sweat that slicked his skin. Sitting up Neal dragged his hands through his drenched hair as he tried to shake off the haze that lingered in his head from the nightmare that he couldn't quite remember but instinctively knew he'd been having.

"Neal?" Peter's voice came through the door.

"Yeah, hang on." Neal replied in a weary tone.

Untangling himself from the sheets Neal swung his legs over the edge of the bed. Only wearing the bottom half of his pajamas he looked around for the shirt. He recalled having been wearing it when he went to bed, but he wasn't quite sure what had happened to it during the night. Sitting on the edge of the bed he found the matching silk shirt among the sheets. When he put it on he discovered that the front was torn open from the neck half way down the shirt.

"Not again." Neal muttered as pulled off the ruined shirt.

Neal spotted a plain white shirt draped over one of the dinning room chairs. Getting to his feet Neal's right knee instantly buckled, unable to correct his balance in time he hit hardwood floor. Landing on his shoulder Neal managed not to cry out as a jolt of pain lanced down his arm. Sitting on the floor Neal tried to straighten out his arm that was cramping. He managed to extend his elbow but his wrist remained curled in with his ring and pinky fingers contracted into a painful claw against his palm.

"Neal?" Peter asked concerned through the door.

"Coming," Neal growled through his teeth "just give me a second."

Using his left hand Neal forced his fingers out flat and worked on releasing his wrist. The muscles protested with a few spasms before finally relaxing. Getting back to his feet Neal shook his hand out while he retrieved the white shirt from the chair. He pressed his hand against his shoulder until he reached the door and then made a point of leaving it alone. Taking a deep breath he painted on a smile and opened the door.

"Hey," Neal greeted "I thought you were taking the day off."

"You okay, Neal?"

"Peter, I can't even begin to describe to you how sick I am of hearing you ask me that."

"Sorry, but you look like you've been ridden hard and put away wet...literally."

"It's been a rough morning." Neal admitted as he self-consciously rubbed at his forearm that was still sticky from the night sweats.

"Morning?" Peter repeated with his brow furrowed. "Neal it's four in the afternoon."

"Really?" Neal looked around as if that would help him reorient to the time. "Well it was a late night testing the museum."

"Still..."

"My circadian rhythm is delicate." Neal shrugged. "Why are you here? Do we have a new case?"

"No. Well, yes, but that's not why I'm here. Can I come in?"

"Of course, sorry." Neal stepped out of the way so Peter could step inside. "What's going on?"

"Sit down, Neal." Peter said gently.

"Okay, now you're just making me nervous."

"You can't be half as nervous as I am." Peter said half jokingly.

"Peter, seriously, what is going on?"

"I got orders from the top considering your parole."

"I'm going back to prison?" Neal asked fearfully. "After everything I've done to hel..."

"No, Neal, not prison." Peter assured. "Approval came through to take you off anklet."

"Really?" Neal instantly brightened. "When?"

"Today. Right now in fact."

"You've got to be kidding me."

"This isn't an unconditional release." Peter added. "I'm still your handler, you will need to check in with me over the phone daily and in person at least once every three days."

"Do I still have a radius?"

"For now they ask that you stay within New York state."

"I can't believe this." Neal smiled.

"Neither can I."

"What do you mean? This certainly didn't just come out of the blue. I know they denied you when you asked for my early release two months ago after..." Neal paused unable to finished the sentence. "After everything that happened. You must have been the one pushing for this, right?"

"...of course." Peter replied after a brief hesitation. "I just didn't think anyone was listening."

"Bark loud and long enough and someone is bound to notice. I can't thank you enough for this, Peter."

In his excitement Neal thew his arms around Peter in an enthusiastic embrace. Peter accepted the affection for a moment before pushing Neal away. Peter put his hands on his hips and stared at Neal. Neal could see in Peter's expression that he had some reservations about the new arrangement, but Neal was determined to prove to him that he could walk on the straight and narrow for at least long enough to be granted a full release.

"Do not screw the pooch on this one, Neal."

"I won't, I promise, Peter."

"I'm serious. You so much as bend the law half a degree and I don't know what will happen to either one of us. I'm putting a lot on the line backing you on this."

"I know, and I'm ready for this. ...I need this."

Peter regarded Neal silently for a moment before he nodded slightly. Reaching into his jacket Peter pulled out the folded paperwork and a pen. Taking the document over to the table Neal read over the fine print. As Peter had already explained he was still a ward of the state and Peter would act as handler while Neal continued to assist the FBI as a CI. However he would no longer be monitored and he was free to move about the city as he pleased whenever he wasn't actively working a case.

It wasn't the same as true freedom, but he was more than happy to agree to it for now. Neal signed the papers and handed them back to Peter. Pulling the dinning room chair out Neal propped his foot up on it. Once again Peter hesitated, but in the end he fished the small magnetic key out of his pocket and offered it to Neal.

"Oh no," Neal shook his head "you put it on there, you should be the one to take it off."

Peter managed a smiled and leaned over to release the magnetic lock on the anklet. Removing the anklet Peter slipped it into the large side pocket of his jacket. Neal rubbed at his newly naked ankle. He'd had the tracker off plenty of times in the past few years, but this time felt very different. Putting his foot back on the floor Neal looked around as if seeing the apartment for the first time.

"I don't even know what to do first." Neal smiled.

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Of course."

"Take a shower and brush your teeth."

"That bad, eh?" Neal chuckled.

Peter answered by taking a step back. Neal laughed at him and pounced on him with another friendly hug that Peter instantly worked to escape from. Neal released him without much of a fight. After a brief moment of silence Peter headed towards the door. Neal followed him over. Peter opened the door but before he stepped through he turned back to Neal.

"Congratulation, Neal." Peter said sincerely.

"Thank you."

"If you need anything..." Peter left the rest unspoken.

"I know." Neal nodded. "Thank you, Peter, for everything."

Peter nodded once again. He looked like he was going to give Neal one last warning about behaving, but he kept quiet and simply left. Neal closed the door and stared out over his apartment. He had not been keeping it as clean and orderly as he usually did, it wasn't a serious mess or anything, but it wasn't his usual state either.

Resolving to clean it up later Neal headed for a much needed shower. Once clean and dressed Neal reached for his cell phone. Picking it up he instantly dropped it as his hand went numb. He had almost forgotten about the damage for a moment. With his shoulder suddenly blazing in pain he retreated to the bathroom. Shaking four pills out of the orange bottle he skipped the water and just chewed them. Instantly feeling better Neal went back out into the living room to retrieve his phone. He had to dial four different numbers, the first three having been disconnected, before he finally got an answer.

"Hey, Neal." Mozzie greeted.

"Mozzie, get over here, right now. We're going out."

"Out? Where?"

"I don't care, just as long as it's at least two point five miles away."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Neal sat on one of the white benches inside the Whitney Museum of American Art staring at a painting with a slight smile touching his lips. It was a painting of a early 1900's show woman in a Victorian dress up on stage in front of a conductor. The choppy style of painting and the easy flow rough colors gave it simplicity, but the warm use of light gave it amazing depth. The painting had such warmth that Neal felt that if he held his hand out he would be able to feel it. Mozzie was sitting next him, but he was more interested in the near by higher priced items hanging on the walls.

"Revue by Everett Shinn." Neal broke the silence. "I've always loved this painting."

"Want to steal it?" Mozzie chuckled.

"I already have." Neal smiled.

"What?"

"This is a forgery, my forgery." Neal looked at the painting fondly. "This was my first crime here in New York."

"Ah, so that's why we are here."

"It is. I've wanted to come visit it for a while now."

"So whoever you sold it to gave it to the museum?" Mozzie asked confused.

"No." Neal shook his head. "I did the forgery and then broke in to replace the original."

"Umm...why?"

"Just to see if anyone would notice."

"Clearly no one did."

"I even called in a tip that they might want to have it checked."

"Bold." Mozzie said with a nod of approval.

Neal just smiled as he became lost in thought. The painting was the ultimate expression of crime being an art form all its own. Just like the fact that he had enjoyed stealing the worthless egg Peter had decorated up just as much as he would have if the real Faberge had been there. More often than not the jobs he had pulled in the past had nothing to do with a need for money. Neal had lost count on how many scores could have had him 'set for life' as far as money was concerned. Money was never enough, he always missed the thrill.

"Peter's right," Neal mutter to himself "I'm probably not ready for this."

"Neal?" Mozzie asked in concern.

"Nothing. I was just thinking about my 'release', I don't think Peter wanted to do it. Which really doesn't make much sense since he must have been the one to make the request or at the very least they must have asked his opinion about it. But he hesita..."

"Neal, stop." Mozzie interrupted. "Never look a gift horse in the mouth, it's liable to bite you."

"Very deep, Mozzie."

"I'm serious. Who cares why the suit took off your anklet? It doesn't matter."

"The more I think about it, the more something doesn't feel right."

"I agree."

"You do?" Neal replied surprised. "I thought you said it didn't matter."

"It doesn't, or at least it won't." Mozzie said confidently. "You say you only have to check in with Peter physically every three day?"

"Trust me, he's going to want to have eyes on me at least once a day no matter what the court order has to say about."

"Still, Neal, we could be half way across the world over night." Mozzie said with obvious excitement.

"No."

"This is the perfe..."

"No." Neal said more firmly. "I'm not running. I'm so close to being truly free, I'm not ruining it now."

"If it's Peter you're worried about..."

"Just drop it, Moz."

"At least agree to think about it." Mozzie pressed.

Neal sighed in defeat. Not enjoying his first night of relative freedom as much as he had hoped Neal reached for his hat that was resting on the bench next to him. Picking it up his arm jerked with a mind of its own and knocked the fedora to the floor. Mozzie was quick to lean down and retrieve the hat so that Neal wouldn't have to.

"How's your shoulder?" Mozzie asked knowingly as he offered Neal his hat.

"Worse." Neal admitted as he took the hat. "There are times when it doesn't bother me at all, and then suddenly it feels like someone's twisting a knife in it, which usually happens at the least convenient time. It's not always just pain anymore either, sometimes my hand cramps up or it's numb and I pins and needles. The a week ago when I woke up it took a good fifteen minutes before I could move my arm at all, like it was paralyzed."

"That sounds serious. What does your doctor say about all this?"

"My doctor? You mean my state appointed physician's assistant?" Neal hissed. "The last time I went in to tell him that my symptoms were just getting worse he said he was discontinuing my narcotics prescription and wanted to send me to a psychiatrist. At first I was angry that he thought all this pain was just in my head, but I found out that it was worse than that."

"Worse how?"

"He doesn't think I'm crazy, he thinks I'm a liar."

"What?"

"When he was distracted by a nurse that came in to ask a question I got a glance at my chart. He hadn't written down a single thing I'd told him, he'd simply scribbled on it: 'MRI clean. Constellation of symptoms incongruous. Patient is convict, and drug seeking'."

"He thinks you're an addict." Mozzie sighed sadly. "That prescription stuff is big money on the street these days."

"I don't have a drug problem, Mozzie, I have a pain problem."

"I wasn't taking his side, Neal." Mozzie said quickly. "Can't you get a different doctor?"

"Not without going through official channels and the new doctor will just get the same chart with the same diagnosis of 'drug seeker' on it. I'd rather have answers than drugs, but I can't seem to get either."

"What are you going to do?"

"I guess just deal with it." Neal sighed.

"Does Peter know how much it's bothering you?"

Neal's silence answered the question for him.

"He might be able to get you a better doctor." Mozzie suggested.

"I've already had every test in the book, they all came back negative. No, I'm done with doctors, and there is no way I'm going to psychiatrist this close to being released. If one person writes on a document anywhere that I'm anything other than one hundred percent capable of taking care of myself I'll never escape the FBI."

"I wish I could say that isn't true, but you're right. Never let them label you 'crazy', even if you are. Of course some of history's greatest artists suffered from mental illness, although I prefer the term 'neurodiversity'."

Neal manage a chuckle. With the mood lightened Mozzie brightened as well. Mozzie made the suggestion that they head out for some dinner. Happy to do anything that would take his mind off of things Neal agreed. Mozzie lead Neal to a small hole in the wall restaurant that hadn't seen a health inspector in years. They specialized in Ethiopian food that was eaten by hand on flat injera bread. Neal had his suspicions that Mozzie would have preferred sushi but didn't want to put Neal through the ordeal of using chopsticks at the moment.

Mozzie spent most of the meal coming up with elaborate scenarios of places they could go if Neal changed his mind about leaving. Neal peacefully allowed the talk knowing that it was Mozzie's way of dealing with stress. Neal put in his vote for Paris on a destination and Mozzie instantly pounced on the idea.

When dinner was over a young woman who clearly knew Mozzie stepped up to the table and asked the pair if they would be interested in coffee. Mozzie had instantly agreed to coffee for the both of them. Neal had been expecting to have a cup brought to the table, but Mozzie had gotten to his feet and encourage Neal to join him. The woman lead them upstairs to where she had a full coffee ceremony ready. She had already placed down aromatic grass and a few flowers on the bare wooden floor around the set up that she had.

Sitting on the floor Neal watched fascinated as their hostess roasted a small amount of raw beans in a wok like pan over a flame that rose up from a metal pot. She tossed the long handled pan to separate the husks from the beans skillfully. The acrid scent that filled the room stung at Neal's senses as she roasted the beans until they had turned a shiny black as the aromatic oils were coaxed out of the beans.

With a heavy wooden pestle and a long handled mortar she ground the beans until they formed a thick paste. She placed the grounds into a black clay pot of hot water that had a straw lid, placing it over the flame it was brought to a boil. The resulting coffee was poured in a continuous stream over a tray that held three small cups leaving the grounds in the pot. Sugar and salt were offered to add, but no milk. Neal was given a small cup of the jet black coffee which had a sharp wine-like flavor to it. Mozzie praised the coffee and the preparation lavishly and Neal followed suit. After the first round they were quickly offered a second. Starting to feel a serious buzz Neal hesitated when she offered him another cup.

"Uh..." Neal tried to think of a way to be polite.

"Neal," Mozzie whispered "you have to drink three cups."

"Three?"

"It's very rude to retire before the third cup, the third round is considered to bestow a blessing. It is needed for the completion of the transformation of spirit."

"Okay, but I'm blaming you when I don't sleep tonight."

When the third cup had been consumed Neal and Mozzie thanked their host once again. She smiled proudly, she had only spoken a few words through the whole ceremony. Neal glanced at his watch and discovered to his surprise that it was nearing midnight. He hadn't even realized how long the ceremony had taken.

Saying good bye to Mozzie Neal started on the long walk home. He was a good six miles from his apartment, but with the strong Ethiopian coffee running through his veins he didn't mind. Taking a winding route home Neal found himself farther from home than when he'd started and in a part of the city that he hadn't visited in a very long time. As the coffee buzz wore off he found his shoulder going from a nuisance to actually being in pain. It had been hours since he'd last taken any of the prescribed percocet and worse yet he knew there were only two left in the bottle at home that now had no refills left on it.

Coming to an old house crammed in between a few derelict apartment buildings Neal stepped up to the door. He was about to knock when he thought better of it. Before he could back away the door opened. A woman who would have looked at home in New Orleans as a Voodoo Priestess appeared. She had looked annoyed at first, but after a quick glance at Neal she instantly warmed to the idea of having him on her door step in the middle of the night.

"How can I help you, Sweetness?" She purred.

"Is...uh...is Rick still here?"

"No, sorry, Baby-doll, Ricky's dead."

"Sorry to hear that." Neal took a step back. "Sorry to disturb you. Good night."

"If you've got pain, you can talk to me." A broad smile split her lips. "I got every-ting you need."

Neal took another step back before he stopped and glanced around the deserted neighborhood. His hand suddenly clenched into a fist that he couldn't relax. Stuffing his disobedient hand into his jacket pocket he ran his left hand through his hair in frustration. The woman sensed that he was about to leave and opened up the door to the house wider to be more inviting.

"I don't like seeing you suffer. What do you need? You can tell me."

"I...uh...I'm looking for something..." Neal hesitated again "medical grade, percocet or something similar."

"No problem, Sugar, come upstairs. Momma's got a whole candy store..."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"So...where were you last night?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Neal chuckled.

"Probably not." Peter sighed. "I was just too afraid to ask you what you were doing."

"Nothing I can't rationalize."

"You know it makes me nervous when you talk like that, right?"

"I choose my every word with you very carefully for that exact effect."

"Sit." Peter ordered as he rolled his eyes.

Neal smiled brightly and plunked down in one of the chairs in front of Peter's desk. Looking through a few files on his desk Peter put his signature on the ones that still required it. When Neal had first started working with White Collar he had thought that Peter making him sit and wait while he signed papers in the morning was some sort of power play. However it hadn't take Neal long to realize that tying up loose ends was just part of Peter's morning routine. He like to make sure everything was as organized as possible before the chaos of the day began.

Eventually Peter signed the last page in the stack and after placing them in the 'out' box bin he put the cap back on his pen. This was usually the point when Peter put the pen back in the drawer and they would start talking about their next case, but today he kept the pen in his hands and fidgeted with it. Neal watched Peter play with the pen for a full minute before he reached over the desk and took the pen away.

"What's wrong, Peter?"

"That obvious?"

"Painfully so." Neal confirmed. "What's wrong?"

"I want to talk to you about Rachel."

"We've already talk about it." Neal replied coldly.

"Yes, but I don't think you've ever truly listened to what I have to say."

"I've listened, I've even heard. I just happen to disagree with you."

"I did what I had to." Peter said firmly.

"No." Neal shook his head. "I had everything under control, I was seconds away from talking her into turning herself in."

"You were seconds away from a bullet tearing through your heart."

"She shot me out of a spasmodic reaction to the shot gun blast to the chest she received from you. I know she had me at gun point, but I was perfectly safe until you arrived."

"She was MI5 trained, she was trained like I was: to keep your finger off the trigger until you're ready to kill. The second you turned to look at me she slipped her finger down on that trigger."

"Peter..."

"Neal, she was going to kill you, expecting to be next herself. She wasn't about to leave without you."

"Why are we rehashing this?" Neal demanded getting angry. "Who are you even trying to convince? Me or yourself?"

Neal regretted his words even before he had finished them. Peter instantly dropped eye contact, telling Neal that he had hit a nerve.

"Peter, I'm sorry." Neal apologized sincerely. "I know you did what you felt was right at the time. You were just trying to protect me, and I am grateful for that. But no matter what you say I will never believe that I needed protecting from her."

"I know she loved you." Peter admitted.

"She did, but I never loved her, not really." Neal furrowed his brow as a new thought crossed his mind. "That's what you're really worried about, isn't it? I'm off anklet now and you're worried that I'm not in a good place mentally and therefore more prone to doing something stupid."

"Something like that."

"Don't worry about me, Peter. I didn't love Rachel, I admit that I was falling for 'Rebecca', but she didn't exist." Neal opened and closed his hand a few time as the numbness suddenly returned. "She was just a con."

"Neal, I jus..."

"Did it ever occur to you that I may have learned a lesson in that particular cruel twist of irony? That perhaps being conned was for the best? Because trust me when I say that a taste of my own medicine has temper my desire for dishing it out."

"I'm sorry, Neal, you didn't deserve to be hurt like that."

"That's debatable."

Peter fell silent, unsure of how to respond. The phone on Peter's desk rang but he ignored it to show Neal that their conversation was more important even if he didn't know how to best continue it. Neal smiled gratefully at the gesture but ended the conversation himself by reaching over and picking up the phone, handing the receiver to Peter. Peter hesitated but then accepted that there really wasn't anything more to say anyway at this point.

"Burke." Peter answered the phone.

Realizing that he had been leaning forward during their talk Neal relaxed and leaned back. He shoved his hand into his jacket pocket hoping that it would help the pins and needles sensation go away. He had felt just fine when he'd walked into Peter's office, but now his shoulder was starting to ache once more. He thought about the percocet that he'd bought from Camilla the night before, six of which were resting in his breast pocket at the moment. Neal was thinking about excusing himself to head to the restroom to take a few in privacy when Peter hung up the phone with an irritated grumble.

"Peter?"

"That was the art museum. They are still worried about that damn egg, it arrives today."

"They took our recommendations on security didn't they?"

"They only had time to implement a few of them."

"What more do they expect us to do about it?"

"That's basically what I told them."

"And?"

"And apparently they feel that their tax dollars are not being well spent on my salary."

Neal chuckled, earning him a glare from Peter. "I don't understand why they are so concerned, I mean I know it's a valuable object, probably six million fenced. However they have other works there on display right now worth a lot more."

"Two Faberge eggs have been stolen in the last three months. This egg is on loan from Russia so beyond the money it would be a PR nightmare if this one ends up missing."

"Wait, two have been stolen? Why aren't we on that case?"

"They were stolen out of European collections, so they are Interpol's problem."

"If the first two thefts were connected this egg would probably be safer in America. Getting in and out of the US isn't as easy as it used to be."

"It doesn't matter, we have bigger fish to fry."

"New case?"

"One I'm not one hundred percent happy to bring you in on, but one that undoubtedly requires your skills."

"I like what I'm hearing so far." Neal smiled. "What have you got?"

"Are you familiar with Wassily Kandinsky?"

"I'm insulted that you feel you need to ask. Russian born artist, 1866-1942, who is widely credited with creating one of the first purely abstract works. He had a profound influence on modern art. His work has an amazing amount of flow and creativity that invites the viewer to draw their own conclusions. It was also believed that he had synaesthesia."

"Syne-what now?"

"Synaesthesia, it is a phenomenon where stimulation to one sense causes an involuntary experience to a second sense. People with synaesthesia often describe it as an ability to hear color and see music, these people often become musician or artists of extraordinary talent. Kandinsky reported experience color through not just sight, but hearing, touch, and even smell."

"Smell?"

"The scent of a rose often reminds people of the color red, but for Kandinsky the scent of a rose could trigger a whole masterpiece of color in his mind."

"I guess I tend to just think in black and white."

"Now there is the understatement of the century." Neal mocked.

"Watch it, one word from me and you're back in that anklet."

"No need for threats." Neal held his hands up peacefully. "Why are you interested in Kandinsky?"

"One of his stolen works has just surfaced."

"Really?" Neal asked excited. "Which one?"

"'Blue Crest'."

"One of my favorites." Neal said as his excitement grew. "Is it here?"

"It is." Peter confirmed. "In evidence."

"Do you need it authenticated?"

"Yes, and if it is real..." Peter stopped and heaved a sigh. "I can't believe I'm going to say this..."

"You need a forgery of it don't you? To use in another sting. Whoever you caught with it already had a buyer lined up, a buyer he's willing to give up for some leniency. You want the buyer too, but you can't use the real Kandinsky in case something goes wrong and it gets damaged. I bet the buyer someone you've been waiting years to catch with his hand in the cookie jar, and this is the closest you've ever come. Am I right?"

"You know you are."

"I'm on it."

"I knew you would be."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

"Magnificent." Neal said with true admiration. "The dynamic development of the main color and the brightly expressed accents blend seamlessly into the ascending spiral movement that sweeps diagonally across the canvas. It evokes an image of a horseman galloping through a Spanish village in the rain. The darker tones crash into the bright space in the upper right like a cresting wave adding to the overall energy."

"I don't get it." Peter said unimpressed.

"What's not to get? It's a masterpiece."

"It looks like it was painted by a five year old."

Neal furrowed his brow and gave Peter an exasperated look. Neal turned his attention back to the abstract Kandinsky, unable to understand how Peter couldn't see the beauty and creativity expressed in the painting. Neal loved how abstract works invite the viewer to participate in the artistic process by seeing it in a different light than the creator, bringing a new depth to the work through perspective. It was clear from Peter's expression that the painting left no impression on him whatsoever.

"How is it that we're friends?" Neal asked seriously.

"By court ordered mandate."

"Right." Neal smiled. "Alright, I'll take this back to my apartment and start on the forgery."

"Nice try, Neal." Peter pressed a manilla envelop of photos against Neal's chest. "The original stays here."

"I'd be able to do a better job if I had the original."

"Not going to happen."

"Peter, has anyone ever told you that you have trust issues?"

Peter glared silently at Neal.

"The photos will do just fine." Neal gave in. "How much time do we have?"

"Five days."

"Oh. That's pushing it with an oil painting. They can take weeks, even months to dry."

"Don't you put in the oven or something?"

"That's to age it, heat doesn't do much to speed up oil paint drying. Acrylic paint dries by literally drying out the water, with oil paints it's actually an oxidizing process that occurs. I can add a drying agent and some linseed oil, but it might crack. How closely is it going to be inspected by the buyer? How much does he know about art collecting?"

"There is a good chance he knows nothing about art, he's been buying a lot of it lately, but with no particular theme or style in common."

"Private collectors tend to show their tastes in their purchases." Neal agreed. "Who is this guy? Why the sudden interest in 'art'?"

"His name is Lawrence Fisher and buying and selling stolen art isn't what put him on our radar. He's head of a smaller investment company. We think he's running a Ponzi scheme that is about to collapse."

"Time to liquidate his cash into easier to transport, harder to trace assets before he disappears." Neal nodded thoughtfully. "He might not even know the Kandinsky is stolen."

"Considering who he's buying from, he knows it's stolen or at least he should suspect. If we catch him buying it we will have a solid evidence to get a warrant to take a detailed look into all of his finances both personally and company."

"What kind of Ponzi is he running?"

"Hedge fund fraud. A few years back he started up what we suspected was a hedge fund scheme, but while he was under investigation the fund took a lucky unexpected turn and what probably started out as a scheme actually made legitimate money. I'm sure he managed to embezzle a good quantity of it, but he was able to clean up his books with the upswing in the hedge which he quickly dissolved."

"Now he's started over?"

"And with the success of his last fund he has twice the number of investors."

"Perfect time to vanish with investor cash in hand before it gets actually sucked up into the market."

"Exactly, particularly with the way oil prices have been plummeting his fund can't be that immune to market pressure, and yet he's reported nothing but gains for the last three quarters."

"Drawing even more investors in."

"Everything he has posted looks clean, but hedge funds are not open to the public the way mutual funds are and oversight of them is notoriously difficult considering how many regulatory loopholes they have built into them. As far as I'm concerned hedge funds are barely legal to begin with."

"All in all it doesn't sound like he's an art collector and that is really going to work to our advantage. He will be easier to trick with a forgery."

"So you can get it done in time?"

"If I start now."

"I'll set everything up for the buy."

"Can I go in as the seller?" Neal asked hopefully.

"It will have to be you." Peter looked down at the painting. "I could never convince anyone to buy this crap."

Neal chuckled and Peter joined with a genuine smile. Neal was glad to have some of the tension between them over Rachel lifted, even if it was just for the moment. He didn't want to blame Peter for Rachel's death, and yet deep down part of him still resented Peter for what happened. The increasing frequency and severity of the symptoms that ran down his right side didn't help the situation, acting as a constant reminder.

A cold chill ran down Neal's spine as he suddenly came to the realization that he might not even be physically capable of forging the complicated abstract painting. Until a few weeks ago he had been in a sling as the gunshot healed, and he hadn't so much as looked at a paint brush over the past three months since the shooting. He wasn't in any pain at the moment, but he knew from bitter experience that it would be back.

"I'm going to go get starting on this." Neal said as he turned away with the photos in hand.

"Neal..."

"Yes?"

"It's good to see you excited about a case."

"You mean my first case completely off anklet?" Neal asked knowingly. "Are you worried about me getting bored while you can't track my every move?"

"Idle hands are never a good thing, particularly ones as talented as yours. I'll admit that I feel better keeping them occupied."

"Did that sound better in your head?" Neal mocked. "Because out loud that sound really dirt..."

"Get out." Peter interrupted, rolling his eyes.

Neal flashed Peter a smile and wiggled his fingers at him before he left the evidence room. It had been mid morning when Neal got back to his apartment after a trip to a local art store for a few extra supplies. It was now nearing midnight and Neal was surrounded by a dozen failed attempts at the Kandinsky. He could get the base colors in, but every time he tried to work the detail his hand jerked or simply went numb. On his last attempt he had actually ripped through the canvas with the brush.

At the moment Neal had given up on the forgery and was working on an abstract work of his own to try and loosen up his hand and relax his mind. Neal dragged a thick swath of red paint across the multi coloured painting. The first pass of color left a wavering line where Neal had wanted a straighter path. Trying to create a smooth bold line of color he slashed at the canvas with the red in his growing frustration. At the top of the violent stroke the brush flew out of his hand as his arm jerked painfully. Snarling in disgust Neal slammed his palm against the painting and smeared the greasy oil paint across the large canvas with his hand.

Suddenly panting for breath Neal jumped to his feet and shoved the painting along with the easel over. The the sound of Peter's shotgun mixed almost simultaneously with the crack of Rachel's handgun seemed to ring in his ears as the easel hit the hardwood floor. Stumbling back a few steps Neal grabbed his right wrist as it contracted powerfully with a life of its own. The muscles down his arm burned like acid as they continued to pull tight against the bone causing his arm to curl up against his chest despite his best efforts to stop it.

Neal fought against himself for a moment before the 'attack' was suddenly over. His muscles relaxed and the arm was once again his to control. The pain receded for the most part but the event had left him exhausted. Without thinking he reached up and buried his face in his hands before dragging them through is hair, leaving half his face smeared in crimson paint. Neal caught his reflection in the glass patio doors and stared at the 'blood' that marred his skin.

The sight of the paint trigger the memory of Rachel's face covered in blood as she lay on the stone staring blindly at him as she clung to life. He had been laid out by the shot he'd taken as well. Although bleeding out himself with Peter pressing hard against his ruined shoulder he didn't remember there being any pain. At the time he had been completely focused on the light slowly leaving Rebecca's eyes as she succumb to her own devastating injuries. Closing his eyes Neal forced himself to take a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of the gory image.

Digging into his pocket with his clean hand Neal pulled out five percocet which he crunched down on without water before fishing his cell phone out of another pocket. Chewing on the bitter pain killers he instantly felt the wash of relief that they provided. He swallowed the thick paste as he dialed the phone.

"Hey, Neal." Mozzie answered. "You're up late."

"Mozzie, I...I have a very important favor to ask."

"Anything. What do you need?"

"Find me someone who can forge a Kandinsky."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

Neal laid in bed curled up in a nest of Egyptian cotton sheets. With every breath he nestled deeper into the warm cocoon with all the contentment of a cat curled up on a pillow. It had taken nearly an hour to wash the thick oil paint off his face and get it out of his hair and after the long night failing at the forgery he had been exhausted by the time he was done. The drugs in his blood made the bed as comfortable as a summer cloud. Despite the late hour he was battling against falling asleep because he was enjoying being warm and pain free so much. Eventually he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

It felt like only seconds had passed when the peace of his dark apartment was shattered by the mechanical buzz of his phone. It took him a moment to even figure out what it was as the haze of drug induced sleep still clung to him. Trying to ignore the phone on the night stand Neal pulled the covers up over his head and willed it to be silent. The phone rang to voice mail but after a brief pause it began to buzz again.

"Go away." Neal moaned like a child that didn't want to get up for school.

Afraid that if he didn't answer the phone that Mozzie would just come over and let himself in Neal reached out for his cell phone. A quick glance at the clock on the night stand told Neal it was two thirty in the morning, he'd barely been in bed an hour. Clumsy from the percocet that he had recently taken Neal knocked the phone to the floor. Struggling with the sheets Neal leaned over the bed to reach the phone still ringing on the floor.

"Mozzie..."

"Neal, I nee..."

"Peter?" Neal interrupted, surprised by the late call. "Is everything alright?"

"Neal, I need you at the museum."

"What? Why?"

"We are testing the security."

"The egg again?" Neal asked in confusion. "Can't this wait?"

"No."

"But, I...I don't even know what changes they made to the system."

"Figure it out."

"Peter..."

"Now, Caffery."

Before Neal could say anything else Peter hung up. Furrowing his brow Neal looked around his dark apartment feeling disoriented. He checked his caller ID to make sure that he hadn't just woken from some bizarre dream. In his phone it had one missed call and one taken call from 'Burke'. Neal briefly thought about calling back and trying to talk his way out of this, but Peter hadn't sounded like he was in the mood to negotiate.

Sighing heavily Neal swung his legs out of the bed as he sat up. Getting to his feet he had to stand still for a moment while a wave of vertigo washed over him. Taking a few deep breaths he headed over to the walk in closet. Changing into a simple black outfit Neal dug out the small bag that still had his tools from the last time he broke into the museum. Stepping into the hidden 'speakeasy' room Neal grabbed a few extra supplies before he headed out the front door.

The cool night air helped wake him up as he walked the three miles to the museum. In the early hours of the night New York was mostly asleep despite its reputation for never doing so. Neal only came across about a dozen people and all of them had their own business to mind. Getting to the museum Neal circled it once from across the street to see if any security had been added to the outside. Feeling that it was safe to approach he stepped into the back alley that lead to the loading dock.

He had gone in through the roof the first time, but he suspected that they would have welded that grate shut. It would have been one of the simplest of the changes that he had Peter had recommended. There was no good access from ground level but Neal did spot an open window on the third floor of the four story building. They hadn't made any changes to the fire escape, which was easily reached by climbing up the drain pipe.

Neal made it up onto the fire escape stairs without any trouble but once he was standing on the metal grate of the stairs and looked down the vertigo returned. Leaning against the brick building Neal took a moment to recovere his balance. He'd had trouble with the dizziness on the percocet before, but usually he was home and could just lay down. Being careful not to look down Neal made his way up to the roof top.

As predicted the grate he had opened to get into the duct work was welded shut. Luckily it looked like they had done a very good job of it. Neal dug through his bag and pulled out a coil of parachute cord along with a special carabiner that would assist in rappelling down. Using a knot he'd learned while mountain climbing in New Zealand Neal secured the cord to the grate. He put on a pair of thin leather gloves to protect his skin as well as keep from getting fingerprints everywhere. Wrapping the cord around his hand and then up over his elbow he used the purchase to yank on the rope with all of his strength to test the grate. Satisfied it would hold Neal went over to the edge.

Looking down brought back the vertigo with a vengeance and Neal was forced to sit down on the roof top and close his eyes. He was deeply regretting the large dose of percocet he had taken just two hours ago. It was dangerous enough to be rappelling off the building even on a good day, doing it now was bordering on just plain stupid.

"If I had been given a little warning..." Neal muttered bitterly. "I still don't see what is so important about one tacky little egg."

Sitting on the gritty roof top Neal gave some serious consideration to giving up and just going home. Neal rubbed at his ankle as he thought about what might happen if he didn't do the security test and the egg ended up missing. Not wanting to risk being leashed again Neal snapped the large carabiner on the cord, wrapped a loop under his foot and then slipped the tail of the rope through a groove in the carabiner. The handle on the carabiner allowed him to slowly fish the tail through and slow down his decent.

Crawling over the edge Neal was careful not to look down as he slid the first of the rope through the hand hold. Slowly making his way down the side of the building Neal prayed no one was watching from the buildings across the alley. They were all commercial and no lights were on, so hopefully anyone there would be up to no good themselves and not worry themselves with the shadow on the museum.

Reaching the open window Neal climbed inside. He unhooked the carabiner and put it back in the bag. Unfortunately he was going to have to leave the rope behind. He didn't have the right equipment to climb back up the thin cord, which was much more difficult than sliding down. Neal found himself in an employee break room with a vending machine and a few places to sit and eat. Stepping out into the hall he went down the stairwell to find the maintenance closet.

Neal was fairly certain that one of the suggestions they would have taken by now would be to change the timing on the camera sweep. He had easily avoided getting taped before, but he doubted he'd be so lucky this time around. The door to the maintenance room was locked but a few seconds with a lock pick fixed that. Once inside however he was surprised to find a combination lock on the junction box.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Neal searched around briefly for the combination, often times places kept the combination near by for employee's or the employee themselves scribbled it someplace easy. Not finding any numbers Neal went back to the break room. Going to the vending machine Neal searched around the bottom of his bag for a some spare change. Having trouble finding the coins with the leather gloves he pulled off the right one and reached back inside. He always kept a few quarters around, they were endlessly useful. Finding the coins he put them in the machine and pressed a random button. Putting the glove back on he wiped the button clean before retrieving the coke that had been dispensed.

Taking the coke to the counter Neal opened it and drained it down the sink. Taking out a small pocket knife Neal cut out a 'T' shaped piece with rounded ends from the side of the can. Crushing the can he tossed it into the recycle bin. With the small cut out in hand he went back down stairs. Neal slid one end of the coke can shim into the lock and jiggled the combination. The shim sprung the mechanism inside the combination lock easily and it popped open.

"These things are useless."

Looking over the power-box Neal hunted out the circuits that powered the cameras. Cutting off the actual feed from the cameras wasn't possible from this junction box. They had been smart enough to set those up with backup power so if power was cut to the building the alarms and cameras would still work. However if he flickered the power the cameras would cut out for a second while they switched to the back up and in doing so the memory for the sweep pattern would be lost and they would go back to the factory settings. Neal had suggested that they upgrade to cameras with battery operated memory, but those were more expensive and he was certain that they hadn't had time to change out the camera system.

"Now we just have to hope the factory settings are something we can work with."

Neal slunk around the main floor until he spotted the guard. He hung back in the shadows to wait to see if there were two now, and after about ten minutes he spotted the second guard. The second guard was wearing a different uniform, probably from an outside company. This guard was going to be more of a problem. He didn't patrol the whole area the way the original one did, he was here to keep an eye on the main gallery.

Neal thought about the problem for a moment. He came up with an idea, but he hesitated to use it since it would include some property damage. After another ten minutes of problem solving Neal hadn't come up with a better idea than his first one. Going to the woman's bathroom Neal put his foot on the water pipe that ran along the outside of the wall towards the sink. Being an older building it had older style plumbing that was easily broken. Stepping down on the pipe it snapped and started gushing water onto the floor.

Neal jumped back to avoid getting wet and made a hasty retreat. Ducking behind an archway a few doors down Neal waited for the patrolling guard to discover the water seeping out from under the door. By the time the guard made the rounds there was a sizable puddle. Just as Neal had hoped the guard shut off the water and asked the other man to help him with a clean up. They would wait till morning to call a plumber since calling in the middle of the night would cost a fortune. The first guard grumbled something about the whole building being close to falling apart as they started the time consuming clean up.

With the guards distracted Neal had free run of the main gallery. Getting to the entrance he pressed himself against the archway to peek in at the cameras. He was surprised to find that they had stopped sweeping entirely and gone into a default that was stationary. Luckily for him they had stopped in such a way that he would be able to weave a path to the case with the egg. He wouldn't be off screen completely, but he could play the angles to keep his face hidden.

Keeping in mind where the cameras were Neal snaked through the exhibit to the case. Getting there Neal was caught off guard by the fact that the real Faberge Egg was sitting inside on a velvet pillow. Neal had a hard time believing that Peter wanted him to actually risk the valuable porcelain egg by removing it from the museum. Digging his cell phone out of his pocket Neal texted Peter.

'Do you really want me to take this?'

'Yes.' Peter texted back almost instantly. 'I will meet you out back.'

Neal read the text twice just to make sure he was reading it right. Deciding to go ahead with it Neal inspected the case and found that they hadn't had time to update it. Neal had brought the magnet along with him and used it to disarm the alarm so he could lift up the glass case. All in all Neal could understand why the museum and Peter wanted another test, the few suggestions they had taken weren't nearly good enough.

With the powerful pain killer still in full swing in his blood Neal's hand didn't give him the same kind of trouble that it had earlier. Still he decided to use his left hand to reach in and take the multi million dollar prize just in case. He tucked the egg away in the bag making sure that it was safe. Neal quickly made his way down to the loading dock. They had put an alarm on the door that would go off when the door was opened from the inside, but it wasn't a high quality one and Neal easily disarmed it by cutting a few wires.

Neal stepped out into the alley and found himself in almost total darkness. When he had arrived at the museum there were two street lights that had lit up the alley. Both lights were off now. Before Neal could think on the lights being out he was blinded by a car that pulled up the alley with its brights on. Neal raised his hand up and tried to shield his eyes from the sudden invasion of light as two men got out of the car and approached him. Squinting against the harsh light Neal was having trouble seeing after being in the relative darkness of the museum. About all he could make out was their height and outline backlit against the headlights.

"Peter? Jones?" Neal guessed as to who was with Peter.

"Did you get it?" Peter asked.

"You doubted me?"

"Where is it?"

Neal held up the bag and it was quickly taken away from him. Neal's eyes had almost adjusted to the brightness when suddenly the headlights on the car shut off. Plunged into darkness Neal was momentarily disoriented as the persistent dizziness was triggered by the change in the lights. Neal blinked hard as he struggled to see. Peter seemed satisfied by the egg and he and Jones retreated back to the car without a word. Blinding Neal once more as he started up the car and flashed the lights back on Peter threw the car into reverse and left.

Alone in the dark alley Neal furrowed his brow at his partner's odd behavior. The percocet decided to give out on him as his shoulder slowly began to ache once more. Still a little stunned Neal remained standing in the lonely alley as his eyes slowly readjusted to the dark.

"Good job, Neal." Neal growled to himself in his best impersonation of Peter's voice. "Thank you for getting up in the middle of the night and helping out on this case. I couldn't have done it without you."

"Think nothing of it, Peter, you know I'd do anything for you." Neal replied to himself. "I'm always up for using my myriad of skills for anything as long as it makes your life easier, not to mention advances your career."

"I certainly wouldn't be where I am today without you."

"I know."

Neal ended his imaginary conversation with Peter with a sour look as the sky opened up and began to rain. The icy drizzle quickly soaked Neal to the skin. Holding his aching arm close against his chest Neal sighed heavily and looked around at the dark wet alley.

"Don't worry about me, I'll just walk home. It's not as if I'm exhausted and in pain or anything. See you at the office tomorrow...for my next thankless task."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

"Help! Agent down!"

'Agent down?' Neal repeated Peter's panicked cry in his mind as he tried to make sense of it. At first he had thought that Jones or Diana might have been hit, but when Peter repeated himself as he dropped down next to Neal and pressed hard against the hemorrhaging in his shoulder Neal figured the call for help was meant for him. Not really making the connection to the fact that he was gravely injured Neal was more focused on if it was instinct or something more that had caused Peter to call out for help with that particular phrasing.

"Neal, stay with me." Peter ordered.

'I'm not going anywhere.' Neal thought to himself in a haze of confusion.

Everything had happened so fast that Neal's thoughts were very disjointed about what was truly going on. Turning his head to the side he stared into Rebecca's dull sightless eyes. She was laying in a dark congealing pool of blood that had oozed from her ruined chest. Neal was horrified to see her dead, and yet at the same time it didn't come as a surprise even though he couldn't remember what had happened to her. She was laying near him which helped him realize that he must be laying on the ground as well.

'What happened? Peter...we have to help her...'

Neal couldn't wrap his mind around the concept that she was beyond help even though he was looking at her motionless body. Fighting with his broken thoughts and memories Neal tried to sit up only to find that Peter had him pinned down with a surprising amount of force. Deep in shock and becoming increasingly anxious he looked to Peter for answers. The panic and fear in Peter's eyes worried Neal and only added to his confusion. Peter never panicked, Neal had seen him held at gun point countless times and he never even flinched.

Peter kept one hand pressed down hard against Neal's shoulder while he used his free hand to pull at Neal's tie to loosen it. Neal hadn't even known he'd been struggling for breath until Peter tore open his collar allowing him to breathe more freely. With his chest now heaving for each breath Neal was starting to become aware of the pain as well, a deep throbbing ache that was beginning to lance down his arm. He tried to ask Peter what was going on, but he couldn't seem to actually speak.

When the paramedics arrived Jones had to physically pull Peter away from Neal so that they could do their jobs. Peter stepped back revealing that the front of his shirt and his hands were dripping in blood. Terrified Neal tried once again to sit up only to be held down by the paramedics. Peter stood motionless with his hands held away from his body as if he needed to preserve the blood on his hands.

'Peter?' Neal still couldn't find his voice. 'Are you okay?'

"I had to take the shot," Peter said to no one in particular "she was going to kill him. I know she was."

Peter's confession triggered Neal's memory and with a rush of adrenaline the entire scene flooded back to him. He had been on the brink of ending things peacefully when Peter had arrived and everything had gone wrong in the blink of an eye. There hadn't been any need for blood shed or death. Neal closed his eyes as the blood loss became more critical, tears sliping from the corners of his eyes.

"Don't you dare die, Neal. I'll never forgive myself."

'I have to live. I need to know if I can forgive you...'

Neal had lost consciousness at that point and he was similarly passed out at the moment. Getting home from the museum around five in the morning he had gone directly to bed, shoes and all. He was sleeping so deeply that he was practically as close to death as he had been after being shot. When his phone rang out at six thirty he jerked violently expecting to find himself still laying on the cold ground at the Fort. Rolling over onto his back Neal stared up at his ceiling for a moment before digging the irritating phone out of his pocket.

"Peter..." Neal answered his phone still half asleep. "I really need the day off."

"I'm sorry, Neal, I need you down at the museum."

"Again? Peter, if this is some sort of twisted scheme to get me to never want to step foot in an art museum ever again...it's working."

"I wish." Peter huffed. "Jones will be outside your apartment in fifteen minutes to give you a ride."

"Tell him to bring coffee." Neal sighed.

"All ready on it."

"Really?"

"I know you haven't been sleeping well, and I'm sorry to drag you out of bed." Peter said sympathetically. "You know it couldn't hurt just to talk with the department psycholo..."

"If Jones is on his way I need to run through the shower." Neal interrupted. "See you soon."

"Alright, Neal. Thank you."

Hearing the sincerity in Peter's voice Neal got the feeling that Peter didn't like working on this museum case any more than he did. It would explain some of Peter's behavior the night before if he had been irritated by having to waste his time trying to prevent a heist that probably wasn't going to happen in the first place. Sitting up Neal forced himself to his feet and stumbled into the bathroom to take a shower.

It took Neal slightly more than fifteen minutes to get ready and Jones was already downstairs waiting for him. Jones was leaning back against his car with a cup of coffee in each hand, one of which he was drinking himself. He held the other one out to Neal who took it gratefully.

"Thank you, Jones."

"Feel special, Caffrey," Jones chuckled "I usually only fetch coffee for the Boss."

"I do feel special." Neal managed a smile and took a long pull at the dark brew. "This is good, where did you get it?"

"A little place over on Hanover and fourth."

"So the coffee is better on the other side of my radius." Neal smiled.

"Which you don't have anymore."

"Good point. Let's go, making Peter wait is not going to put him in a better mood."

"No it's not and he's certainly not a bear you want to be poking today."

"Great."

Feeling like he had a hangover Neal wasn't very talkative on the short ride to the museum and that seemed to suit Jones just fine. By they time they got there Neal had downed the large coffee and was feeling better with some caffeine in his system. Neal was surprised to see that the museum had been closed down for the day. There was an employee outside that Jones had to flash his badge at to get past. Peter was inside talking to the curator but he excused himself as Neal approached.

"Morning, Peter."

"Late night?" Peter asked as he noticed the dark circles under Neal's eyes.

"Very funny." Neal replied drily.

"Why is that funny?"

Neal didn't even bother with an answer. Peter studied Neal for a moment, looking like he was about to say something. In the end Peter just turned and lead Neal towards the main gallery. Neal's heart automatically jumped when he saw the full FBI forensic's team going over the scene with a fine tooth comb. Neal looked to Peter for an explanation but Peter was busy looking around making sure that nothing was being missed by the team.

"Peter, why is the forensics team here?"

"Because last night the Faberge Egg was stolen."

"What?" Neal asked in confusion.

"Yeah, apparently they rappelled down from the roof into an open window, cut the power to the cameras so they would stop sweeping and then distracted the guards so they could get into the main gallery."

"Um..."

"The added security wasn't nearly good enough, and now they are blaming us."

"I see." Neal said with his heart suddenly in his throat. "Any...uh...any suspects?"

"That's why you're here."

"Me?"

"This was a very professional job." Peter said. "I know you know all of the truly good players in town. I want you to look around and see if this is the work of anyone you might know."

"Right, of course. I'll just look around then."

"You okay, Neal?"

"Fine. Never better."

"You look a little out of sorts. Did you get any sleep last night?"

"Not as much as I would have liked."

Peter nodded in understanding. Neal was relieved when the irate museum curator called out for Peter's attention and distracted him. When Peter turned to repeat to the curator that they were doing everything they could Neal took the opportunity to snatch Peter's phone out of his pocket. Neal hurried over to the glass case where the egg had been to make it look like he was working. The forensic team had finished their work around it and gave Neal some space. Glancing around to make sure Peter wasn't watching Neal brought up Peter's phone and breathed on the glass front to reveal the oil smudge that was on the surface. The smeared design on the glass gave Neal the combination to the swipe lock on the phone. Knowing Peter was right handed let him know to start at the top left corner.

Neal held his breath with his heart pounding as he unlocked Peter's phone and scrolled into his 'recent calls' directory. Neal searched through the list, but there was no evidence in the phone of Peter calling him in the middle of the night. Remembering that he had texted Peter to get confirmation on actually taking the egg Neal flicked over to Peter's text history. Peter kept all texts back and forth, but there was nothing there from the previous night. Neal knew it was easy enough to erase call lists and texts, but looking over at Peter arguing with the curator he got the sinking suspicion that it wasn't that simple.

"I've been conned...again."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Why are you smiling like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you're trying to blind me."

"This is just how I smile, Peter." Neal said innocently.

Peter narrowed his eyes and regarded Neal suspiciously causing Neal to intensify his grin. Standing next to the empty display case with Peter's phone hidden behind his back Neal was still working on figuring out what had happened last night and how best to deal with it now. The bright smile when Peter had stepped up to him had been a stall tactic to distract Peter from asking questions Neal didn't have the answers to just yet. Peter made a noise that was a perfect mix of disapproval and defeat, something that he had perfected over the years working with Neal.

"This is a disaster." Peter sighed.

"Tell me about it." Neal agreed.

"You did your job, Neal. If they had taken all your suggestions I doubt this would have happened."

"It certainly would have been a lot harder to get in if they had. The open window was a lucky break."

"Lucky break?"

"You told me that they came in through a window."

"I didn't say anything about it being left open."

"I just assumed."

Neal wasn't sure why he'd just been so careless in his conversation. The last thing he wanted right now was Peter suspecting that he had something to do with the break in. Although part of him wanted to confess to the 'crime' and explain to Peter the bizarre set of circumstances that had lead to it. However when he opened his mouth to say something he found himself speechless.

"Peter, they're ready." Jones called out.

"Be right there."

When Peter turned to acknowledge Jones Neal took the chance to return Peter's phone to his jacket pocket. Peter turned back to talk to Neal and took a step back when he found the con artist suddenly a step closer than he had been a second ago. Neal swore internally to himself for being slower than usual but outwardly just offered Peter another smile. He wasn't on top of his game at the moment and he was having a hard time avoiding rookie mistakes.

"Come on, they have the footage from the cameras ready for review." Peter explained.

"Do we know what the person or persons look like who stole the eggs in Europe?"

"No. However I highly doubt that this is connected to those break ins."

"Why do you say that?"

"Both of those jobs were pulled off by violent men, they left three guards and one staff member who was working late dead during the two heists. If they'd been here last night they wouldn't have bothered with distracting the guards, they would have just killed them."

"These eggs aren't worth enough on the black market to add murder to a job unless someone paid up front for them for more than they are worth. I think there may be an end buyer in common, someone very powerful."

"That is a thought, but I think those are just your own ethics talking, Neal."

"What?"

"People murder for nothing more than the cash in their victims wallets all the time. Not every thief has the same high moral code that you have."

"You think I have good morals?" Neal teased.

"You know what I mean, Neal."

"I do," Neal chuckled "I just like hearing you admit that I have positive traits."

"Congratulations on not being a psychotic killer."

"Thank you."

Peter managed a slight smile before he turned to head off towards the back offices where the video was set up on the computer. Jones was already in the office but he had waited for Peter and Neal to join him. Neal gave the monitor an anxious glance as he tried to remember just how careful he'd been about the angles. He hadn't wanted to get his face caught on camera out of professional pride, but at the same time he hadn't really worried about it since he thought he was there on Peter's orders. The job had been made a lot easier by the fact that he hadn't felt like the stakes were all that high. The only consequences to carelessness should have been Peter gloating over having 'caught' him.

Suddenly feeling nauseous Neal realized with horror that he was physically starting to sweat. He was worried about what the tape would reveal, but he didn't feel like that should be enough to set off such a strong reaction. He had been far closer to being caught by Peter for doing far worse things without breaking sweat before. To make matters worse the all too familiar ache in his bones was returning. Neal didn't have any of his percocet on him at the moment, he'd forgotten it on the kitchen counter.

With his heart racing Neal shook his head slightly to try and clear it. Ignoring the discomfort he forced himself to focused on the problem at hand as Jones brought up the black and white surveillance footage. The program opened up and showed a freeze frame of the empty main gallery. The video quality was mercifully pixilated and generally low quality, something that Neal was now grateful that they hadn't fixed even though he'd pointed it out to them before.

"Alright let's get a look at our gal." Jones said as he looked for the play button.

"Gal?" Neal questioned automatically. "What makes you think it was a woman?"

"Just a hunch. The window they slipped through was barely open, and then there is the fact that they used the woman's restroom to set the distraction."

"That doesn't mean it was a woman, it just means they were clever."

"What?"

"If something had gone wrong in the men's room the male guards would have been more suspicious of there being an intruder. However having to go into the woman's restroom would have been uncomfortable for them on some level since it is not a place they are usually allowed to go. They would be more focused on fixing the problem as quickly as they could so that they could leave rather than thinking about a possible trap."

"Naw, I don't buy that." Jones shook his head. "Twenty buck there's a woman on this tape."

"Sure," Neal shrugged "I'll take your money."

Jones clicked 'play' on the computerized surveillance footage and it began rolling. He pressed fast forward looking for the point where the camera stopped sweeping. Once he got to that point he slowed down the fast forward and eventually pressed the normal play when Neal appeared on screen. Neal tensed with his pulse pounding in his ears from fearing he'd been caught. In the video Neal had his back to the camera, but he felt that it was painfully obvious that it was him. He hadn't realized how disheveled he'd been when he'd rolled out of bed and headed to the museum, his hair was going in a thousand directions at once.

"Peter, I..." Neal started an explanation

"Damn it." Jones muttered as he fished a twenty out of his wallet.

"Never bet against a con artist, Jones." Peter chuckled.

"Yeah, whatever." Jones said as he handed over the money.

"Thanks." Neal forced a smile and tucked the bill into his pocket.

"You know that guy looks an awful lot like you, Caffrey." Jones pointed out as the footage continued to roll.

"He has the same build." Peter agreed as he inspected the poor image. "But Neal would never be caught dead on tape with his hair looking like that."

"Good point." Jones chuckled.

"Very funny." Neal said as he relaxed slightly.

"What is he doing?" Peter asked as he hit rewind and rewatched a section. "Right there, it looks like he's...texting?"

"Who stops in the middle of a robbery to text?" Jones asked.

"Someone with a lot of confidence." Peter replied. "Someone with a lot of experience with this sort of work. Neal do you have any thoughts on wh..."

Peter stopped mid-sentence as he turned away from the monitor and looked at Neal. All of the color had drained from Neal's face as his nausea suddenly spiked. Peter took a step towards Neal in concern. Unable to control his rebelling stomach Neal dropped down on one knee and snatched the waste bin from under the desk. Neal hadn't eaten much in the past twenty-four hours so he ended up dry heaving violently.

"Jones, can you get Neal some water?" Peter asked calmly.

"Sure thing."

"I'm okay." Neal said unconvincingly as he caught his breath.

Jones left to get some water leaving Peter and Neal alone. Neal put the waste bin down and took a deep breath. Peter gave Neal some space while he worked to settle his still upset stomach. When Neal was ready to get up Peter offered him his hand to help. Neal instinctively reached up with his right hand to take Peter's causing a sharp pain to lance down his arm. Managing not to cry out Neal just ground his teeth together as he got to his feet without Peter's help. Once up Neal took another breath to recover.

"Neal?" Peter asked quietly.

"I'm still having some pain." Neal admitted.

"I can see that. Come on, let's get you to the hospital."

"What? No. It's not that bad."

"You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm just tired, and all I've had today is a cup of coffee. Besides the doctor says he's done all he can. I just need a little time and something to eat."

Peter studied Neal, looking like he was trying to pick his next words carefully. Before he could come up with anything Jones returned with a glass of water. Neal thanked Jones and sipped at the cold water. Peter watched Neal as he finished the water, looking like he was ready to catch Neal in case he suddenly dropped. Not really feeling much better, but determined to hide it, Neal stayed on his feet.

"Jones," Peter said "send that footage to the lab and see if they can clean it up any."

"You got it."

"I'm going to take Neal home."

Neal didn't have the energy to argue let alone walk all the way home so he accepted the ride. He was grateful that Peter was content to ride in silence. It wasn't very far back to Neal's apartment above June's estate. Peter pulled the car up to the curb, but kept it running. Neal went to get out of the car but Peter reached out and put his hand on Neal's arm to stop him.

"Peter..."

"Neal, I'm worried about you."

"I know, and I appreciate that, I really do. I just need a day to collect myself and get some sleep."

"Take the rest of the week off."

"The week? What about the Kandinsky sale?"

"Forget it. I can't send you undercover like this."

"Peter, I'm fine. I can do it, more than that I want to. A win right now is exactly what I need."

"We can talk about it later. In the meantime if there is anything I can do..."

Peter left the offer open in hopes that Neal might ask for something. Neal just smiled and thanked him. Peter looked concerned as Neal got out of the car, but he didn't do anything to stop him this time. Neal stood just outside Peter's car with the door still open, lost in thought. Finding himself unable to just leave Neal got back in the car and closed the door.

"Neal?" Peter asked when Neal didn't say anything.

"Peter, you know we're good, right? At least I think we are."

"If you say we are then we are." Peter assured.

"Good."

"Neal..." Peter hesitated to continue. "Neal, I need you to be extra careful now that you are off your anklet."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that there are a lot of people who would love nothing more than for you to fail."

"Do you think I'm going to?"

"I wouldn't have given you this chance if I didn't believe you were ready for it."

Neal just smiled and after an awkward pause he got out of the car again. Peter watched Neal approach the front door to June's. It didn't escape his notice that Neal reached out with his left hand to open it rather than his right. Neal looked back over his shoulder and flashed Peter a weary smile before disappearing inside. Peter had been hopeful that Neal was going to finally going to open up, but he wasn't surprised when he didn't.

"I hope you haven't failed already." Peter sighed to himself.

Peter considered going up and knocking on Neal's door, but he thought better of it. Throwing the car in gear Peter pulled out into the street and started to drive to the office. Peter's phone rang, he glanced at his dash display to see the caller before pressing the button on steering wheel that operated the hands free.

"What do you need, Jones?" Peter answered the call.

"Is Caffrey still with you?"

"No, I dropped him off at home."

"Do you think that's him on the tape?"

"I seriously hope not."

"But you're not ready to dismiss the idea that it could be?"

"It's Neal, I can never just dismiss his involvement." Peter said with a heavy heart. "But I honestly believe there is a good chance it's not him, it wouldn't make any sense for it to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Neal needs sleep a hell of a lot more than he needs money right now. There's no reason for him to take that egg."

"And you think Caffrey hasn't stolen for no reason in the past?"

Peter didn't answer out loud because he didn't like the one that he had in his head.

"Peter?" Jones asked. "You still there?"

"I'm here."

"I can get Caffrey's phone records, the guy on the tape was texting. We can see if..."

"No." Peter said quickly. "With Neal's new contract I would need to get a warrant to get those records and I can't officially pursue Neal as a suspect right now."

"Why not?"

"Because it will destroy any chance he has at release. He will be back on his anklet the second I ask for that warrant and even if he ends up being innocent the damage will have already been done. I can't risk that for Neal, not until I have better evidence that it's him on that tape."

"Peter, I gotta ask...why did you recommend taking Caffrey off his anklet?"

"I didn't."

"What? You told them it was a bad idea and they did it anyway?"

"No, I mean they never even asked me."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

"Neal is not going to like this."

Shaking his head sadly Mozzie rolled up the abstract painting that his source had gotten for him and slipped it into a cylindrical carrying case. Painting in hand Mozzie made his way through the city towards Neal's apartment. It was only three in the afternoon and Mozzie wasn't expecting Neal to be home. Not having heard about the museum break in he assumed that Neal would still be at the office with Peter working on the details for the Kandinsky case. He had come over early in hopes that Neal hadn't opened the Chateau Palmer 2011 Bordeaux yet.

Mozzie had his own key to Neal's apartment and let himself in without knocking. Stepping inside Mozzie headed over to the kitchen table to put down the carrying case. He furrowed his brow at the piles of open books and print outs that were scattered across the table. Picking up the nearest book he found that it was a Russian History book that was open to a page on Tsar Alexander III. Putting down the book Mozzie glanced at the other research on the table that all focused on Russia circa 1880-1920 along with a large amount of information on Faberge eggs.

Mozzie already knew that eight of the fifty-two original Imperial Eggs had been lost when the treasures of the Romanov family had been confiscated after the bloody Revolution of 1917. Neal had clearly spent a good deal of time digging deeper into the history and the fate of the famed jeweled eggs. Mozzie knew that Neal was helping a local museum with the security of an Imperial Egg that was going to be displayed, but Neal hadn't seemed all that interested in the actual egg just in the weak security that surrounded it.

"Although he is off anklet, and he knows the place in and out by now." Mozzie mused to himself with a smile. "Perhaps the Neal I knew is still in there after all. It would be a fun score after giving them instructions on how to keep it safe."

Mozzie resisted the urge to call Neal and ask him if he had the egg or if he was planing on getting it soon. Instead he went over to the counter to retrieve a wine glass and hopefully the Chateau Palmer. Getting to the counter Mozzie spotted an orange prescription bottle that was sitting next to the sink. Reading the label told him that although the bottle was for a legal prescription for Percocet the prescription itself had expired over a month ago. Opening the bottle Mozzie only need a quick glance to tell him that there were just as many pills if not more than when the prescription was first filled.

"Not good."

Mozzie knew Neal was still in pain and that the medical system had given up on him so he was confident that these pills had come from a less than legal source. Unsure how to best handle the possible drug addiction Mozzie put the bottle back down where he'd found it. Opening the Chateau Palmer Mozzie poured a glass. Wine in hand Mozzie wandered across the apartment towards the large glass doors that looked out over the city.

Admiring the beauty of New York in the late afternoon sun Mozzie took a sip of the expensive Bordeaux. Making a noise of appreciation for the complex wine Mozzie wondered if there was any sharp cheddar in the fridge to pair with it. Turning around Mozzie spotted Neal sprawled out on the high backed antique couch. Wearing his dress pants and white under shirt tank top Neal didn't look like he was breathing. More terrifying than his stillness were his half open eyes that showed nothing but white.

"Neal!" Mozzie cried in alarm as he dropped his wine glass.

Neal snapped his eyes open at the sound of Mozzie's voice that had been quickly followed by the sharp sound of breaking glass. Jolted awake Neal scrambled up and over the back of the couch and landed on the far side with a heavy thud. Stunned by Neal's reaction Mozzie stood frozen for a moment.

"Neal?"

"Ow." Neal complained.

Mozzie ran around the couch where Neal was just sitting up. Neal looked up at Mozzie with an irritated expression.

"Mozzie, what the hell are you doing here?"

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?"

"I live here."

"I mean why aren't you at work with the Suit?"

Neal didn't answer he just sighed heavily. He got to his feet and turned away from Mozzie to head into the kitchen. Mozzie's breath hissed across his teeth as he caught sight of the healed exit wound on Neal's shoulder that was peeking out from the back of his tank top. Mozzie had seen the relatively small scar in the front of Neal's shoulder but he hadn't seen the substantial damage that had been done in the back. It was the characteristic trauma caused by a hollow point bullet at close range, an ammo choice that in Mozzie's mind showed that Rebecca had no mercy. Having been poisoned by her himself Mozzie had no doubt that Rebecca would have killed Neal, one of the few times in his life that he was in total agreement with Peter.

Seeing the open Bordeaux Neal made a noise of frustration. Neal reached up to open the cabinet to get a glass but couldn't raise his shoulder up high enough to reach. Abandoning the effort he just took a deep pull directly from the bottle. Still ignoring his guest Neal opened the prescription bottle and fished out a pair of the white pills. Crunching the bitter pills between his teeth Neal turned his attention back to Mozzie.

"Neal, don't chew those."

"What?"

"Percocet is not meant to be chewed, it hits the blood stream too fast and has a greater risk of over dose. Speaking of which..."

"I'm fine, Mozzie."

"Says the man who is drinking directly from the bottle and chasing it down with pills."

"Rough day."

"I'm sensing that. Want to talk about it?"

Neal looked at the wine bottle in his hand and put it down on the counter without drinking from it again. Going over to the kitchen table Neal sat down and dragged his hands through his hair. Mozzie came over and sat down across the table from Neal and waited. Neal took a deep breath and looked up at Mozzie.

"I'm losing my touch, Mozz." Neal admitted.

"Does this have anything to do with the Faberge egg that's in town?"

Neal just nodded.

"Did you steal it?"

"I did." Neal nodded. "However I thought I was on the clock."

"What?"

"I thought Peter was the one who asked me to take it. I didn't know I was robbing the place."

"Burglarizing, technically a robbery has to involve force or harm."

Neal shot Mozzie an irritated glance.

"Sorry." Mozzie apologized. "You thought the Suit was in on it? I don't understand."

Neal told Mozzie the whole story of being woken in the middle of the night by 'Peter', getting the egg, and the strange meet up in the alley afterward when he handed it off. Mozzie listened carefully without asking any questions. Finishing the story Neal clenched his hand and shook it out compulsively.

"It sounded exactly like Peter, I swear. His manner was a bit off, but nothing too outside the ordinary. Whoever set me up must have a very high end voice modulator along with some sort of cell phone copying or interfering equipment, and a knowledge that I had been testing the security in the first place. They went to a great lengths to trick me into stealing that egg. Which makes no sense."

Mozzie kept quiet for a moment longer, waiting to see if Neal was about to come to the conclusion that he himself had come to. When it didn't look like Neal was going to continue Mozzie spoke up carefully.

"Neal, there's an explanation that makes sense...a painfully obvious one."

"What?"

"Or rather one that is both obvious and painful."

"Mozzie, just say whatever it is you're thinking."

"Have you given consideration to the idea that Peter's the one who set you up?"

"Peter?" Neal repeated confused.

"Think about it, he puts you on a security case which basically boils down to a recon mission, he gets you off your anklet, then he gives you a nudge to actually commit the crime, while at the same time making it easy to deny that he was invovled. Once he 'catches' you he gets to not only put your anklet back on but add another four to six years to your senta..."

"Stop," Neal snarled "stop right there."

"Neal, you have to look at this objectively. The kind of equipment you're talking about isn't exactly easy to come by, and knowledge of your previous involvement at the museum can't be pubic record. Peter has a lot to gain from..."

"Mozzie!" Neal roared in sudden rage as he pushed himself away from the table and got to his feet. "Enough! I am sick and tired of you trying to drive a wedge between Peter and I!"

"Calm down, Neal."

"No!" Neal hissed. "Peter would never do that to me!"

"Neal..."

"Get out! I can't deal with you right now."

Neal had become so upset that he was panting for breath. Mozzie had no doubt that the drugs were playing at least some part in Neal's emotional instability but it still hurt to have him lashing out at him. Neal had his arm curled up against his chest as his agitation grew. Mozzie slowly got to his feet, but he didn't have any intention of leaving. Seeing Mozzie stand Neal suddenly looked remorsefully.

"Mozzie, I'm sorry."

"Do you trust Peter with your life?" Mozzie asked quietly.

"Absolutely."

"So you must trust him with your well being as well."

"Of course I do."

"Then prove it. Tell him."

"Tell him, what? That I trust him? He knows tha..."

"No." Mozzie shook his head. "Tell him what's going on, everything that has happened."

Neal didn't respond right away.

"If you truly trust Peter then tell him you were conned into stealing the egg, tell him you can't do the Kandinsky forgery."

"Mozzie..."

"Tell him that you're in so much pain that it's driving you to buy drugs off the street."

Mozzie had tried not to sound judgmental about the pain killers, not wanting Neal to just get defensive again. However Neal looked as though he'd just been slapped across the face. There was no denying that Neal needed the medication at the moment, but with his already addiction prone personality it would be a slippery slope for Neal to be on and not one that he should be walking on alone. Mozzie wasn't ready to accuse Neal of having a problem yet, but he wanted Neal to know that at least someone had taken notice. Looking defeated Neal sat back down in the chair heavily and stared blankly at the research spread across the table.

"Well?" Mozzie demanded.

"I would, but..."

"Neal, when it comes to true trust there is no 'but'. It's all or nothing."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"Well could you have him call me back as soon as possible? This is very important."

"I will inform him that you called, Agent Burke."

"Thank you."

Peter hadn't even tried to hide the irritation in his voice. He knew there was no chance of getting called back, this marked the sixth message he had left at the Washington office in two days. He knew he had no hope of speaking to the Deputy Director, or even the Associate Deputy Director. However he was becoming increasingly frustrated by not even being able to get the ear of the Executive Assistant Director of Criminal Investigations, who was actively avoiding his calls. Neal's new contract had been signed by the Director Comey himself which was more surprising than the release itself.

From the moment he had gotten the order to take Neal's anklet off Peter had been trying to track down exactly who had proposed the idea. The Director had signed it, but he doubted that he had anything to do with the actual drafting of the deal. The Director had a whole staff of people who screened things for his approval. It was more likely that someone of influence who had something to gain from Neal's release had 'bought' the signature. The brick wall that Peter kept coming up against was the fact that he couldn't think of anyone who would benefit from allowing Neal a bit of extra freedom.

Whatever was happening, he didn't like it. Peter's best guess at the moment was that the trap being set wasn't really for Neal but rather for him. He'd made more than a few enemies when he'd turned down the Washington position. There were several Senators who were trying to fill the New York office SAC position with Agents of their own. Agents who would be more willing to turn a blind eye to corporations who donated large sums to political campaigns. Neal's failed reform would be a good step in the right direction to discredit Peter and get him removed. Neal would simply be caught in the political cross fire. Staring at the silent phone on his desk Peter thought about how crazy his own theory about all this sounded.

"I'm becoming paranoid in my old age." Peter muttered to himself.

Peter looked up as Jones knocked at his open door. Peter waved him in and Jones closed the door behind himself. Jones was being careful not to mention Neal's name in connection with the Faberge egg case to anyone other than Peter.

"Did you find anything?" Peter asked not really wanting to hear the answer either way.

"That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"On how well you know the back of Caffrey's hand."

"I have a feeling the answer to that is 'not well enough'."

Jones handed over a folder with a set of glossy photos from the surveillance footage that the lab had cleaned up. The detail was a little better, but not by much. There was only so much that could be done with the poor quality data. Most of the photos were from the back showing a man of Neal's build and height with jet black hair that was the right length to belong to Neal, even it was uncharacteristically mussed.

In one photo they had zoomed in on where the camera had caught a glimpse at the back of the man's right hand. He had taken the leather glove he'd been wearing off long enough to send the text so they got a shot of the bare hand after he'd placed the phone back in his pocket. There were no tattoos, scars, or discernible marks of any kind. Looking closer Peter noticed that despite the lean graceful musculature of the hand the ring and middle finger were curled in towards the palm unnaturally. Peter had noticed Neal clenching and shaking out his hand frequently over the past few weeks since he'd gotten out of the arm sling. Several times he'd seen him forcing his hand open, even though he'd always tried to pass it off as though he was just stretching.

"Think it's Caffrey?" Jones asked when Peter had fallen silent staring at the photo.

"I can't say for sure, it's just a hand. I'm honestly not sure how well I could identify even my own hand if I was given a photo of this quality of it."

"It certainly isn't good enough for a warrant."

"No. Find anything else?"

"Yeah, one of the forensic techs found this." Jones reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small evidence bag. "It's a piece of a coke can. It was clearly cut into that shape on purpose, but we don't know why or if it even has any significance."

Peter took the evidence bag and flipped it over to the clear side to inspect the metal piece. Looking at the 'T' shaped piece of soda can Peter's stomach knotted up slightly. He vividly recalled a case about three years back when they'd had a warrant to search a storage locker that had a combination lock on it that they had cut with bolt cutters. Neal had off handedly mentioned that combination locks were pointless because they could be opened with a simple mental shim that could easily be made with a soda can. Peter hadn't believe him and so the next day Neal brought in a combination lock and a T shaped piece of can to prove it.

"Was there a combination lock on the fuse box?"

"Yes, it had been opened not cut. The museum guard said that they had just added the lock on Caffrey's recommendation."

"Neal specifically recommended a Master Lock with a key not a combination lock. For this exact reason, this was used to open the combination lock." Peter said handing the evidence back to Jones.

"Clever."

"If it was Neal he wouldn't have been expecting to come across a combination lock."

"So?"

"He wouldn't have brought this with him, he would have bought the soda from the break room machine. Even if it wasn't Neal, no matter who it was probably didn't bring the can piece with them. Also fishing change out with a leather glove on isn't easy."

"You think there might be a print on one of the quarters in the machine?"

"It's a long shot, but worth checking the coins."

"I'll go arrange to get them right now."

"Thanks, Jones."

"What are you going to do if this was Caffrey?"

"I don't really want to think about it." Peter admitted. "I won't be able to help him this time. Neal will go back to prison."

"That could be a death sentence for him at this point. Informants are already targets in prison and he's helped you put away a lot of dangerous men over the past few years."

"Neal knows that just as well as we do."

"True, but he's not one to care much about consequence."

"There is someone else who would know both of those facts as well." Peter mused to himself.

"Who?"

"The brass in Washington who let him off leash."

"Have you been talking to Mozzie?" Jones asked seriously. "You think Neal's release from his anklet is part of some kind of conspiracy to get him killed in prison? That sounds like a bit of a stretch."

"I know," Peter sighed "but I can't shake the feeling that Neal's been given just enough rope to hang himself at a point in his life when he's very likely to do so."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for slacking on posting this story, haven't gotten much response on it so I got lazy.

Chapter Eleven

Neal was on the run, or at least he was out for one. With sweat dripping from his hair he pushed a hard pace through the dark streets of Manhattan towards Central Park. It was four in the morning and the park was officially closed but that didn't keep Neal from jumping the low utility road gate and heading into the urban forest. The park had once been infamous for its nocturnal crime, but in the past decade there had been a significant drop in after dark crime. As Neal sprinted through the park he figured that anyone who could catch him deserved the money in his wallet.

After he had convinced Mozzie that he was okay and that he could be left alone Neal had wanted nothing more than to dive back into the prescription bottle that sat on the counter. In an effort to show both Mozzie and himself that he had the medication under control Neal had resisted the urge. He'd spent the next six hours working on ignoring the quickly escalating pain. When yoga failed he'd tried Tia Chi, which had better results, but in the end he had needed sleep and was forced back to the drugs.

Only taking three and swallowing them rather than chewing them Neal had managed to get about four hours of sleep before he was woken by a powerful muscle spasm. His hand had been curled up so tightly that his nails had left deep half-moon marks in his palm. Frustrated by the attack Neal had thrown on a pair of running pants and an athletic shirt and hit the streets. He had been running for about an hour now and his shoulder was screaming at him to stop with each step.

Not about to even slow down Neal continued through the park until he came out the other side and then headed off towards the residential area. Part of him hoped that the grueling run would physically tear something open in his shoulder, at least if there was some visual damage the doctors would be forced to believe in the pain he was having. Another half hour of running at his top speed it was no longer Neal's shoulder that was demanding that he slow down, but rather his heart and lungs. As fit as he was there were always limits to human endurance.

Heaving for breath and literally drenched to the skin Neal finally slowed down to a light jog for a mile. When he finally did stop Neal was surprised to find himself on the sidewalk outside Peter's house. Part of the reason Neal had gone running was that he found it was easy to clear his mind when his body was just focused on taking the next step and getting the next breath of air. Automatically arriving at Peter's house proved that he hadn't cleared his thoughts as well as he had hoped.

Neal didn't think for one second that Peter had set him up for the museum job, but he still couldn't get Mozzie's words about trust out of his head. Neal slicked his wet hair back and out of his eyes before stepping up to Peter's front door. It was just past five in the morning and it wouldn't be too long before Peter was getting up to get ready for work. Standing outside the closed door Neal hesitated to knock.

"I should tell him. What's the worst that could happen?" Neal asked himself. "...I could end up shived through the kidneys and bleeding out on a cold prison shower room floor."

Neal was well aware of the risks and dangers to be found in prison. He had been attacked on five separate occasions during his last stay, and that was before anyone knew or cared who he was. They had just been relatively mild beatings due to random prison violence. Having spent the past few years as a highly successful CI would land him near the top of the list of inmates to be singled out and brutally murdered. Neal figured that the warden probably wouldn't even bother putting him in the computer system, they'd just shove him out into the exercise yard and have the guards turn their backs for a few minutes while 'nature' took its course. There would be less paperwork involved with his death that way.

Still standing on the front step of Peter's house Neal discovered that at least one member of the Burke family was awake. Satchmo had nudged aside the front drapes and was staring at Neal. The loyal lab didn't bark, he just watched Neal in curiosity with his tail wagging. Feeling on some level as though he'd been caught Neal lifted his finger to his lips to silently ask the dog to remain quiet as he backed away from the front door. Satchmo stayed in the window until Neal was on the sidewalk and then he disappeared back into the house.

After taking one last look around Neal jogged off down the street before Satchmo could go wake Peter. Getting back to his apartment Neal peeled off his clothes and stepped into the shower. Neal knew Peter wasn't expecting him at the office today, but he got dressed as though he was going to go in anyway just in case he decided to. Straightening the deep blue tie he'd chosen Neal noticed a significant reduction in his pain.

"Maybe the doctor is right, maybe it's all just in my head."

Neal didn't really believe that something as severe as what he'd been experiencing could all be psychosomatic, but it did give him hope that he had found something that could possibly help him cut back on the amount of medication he was taking. Going out into the kitchen Neal started a pot of coffee and turned to the research on the table on the Russian eggs while it brewed.

"Someone must be starting an egg collection...but why? And why go through me? Anyone could have pulled off that job with a lot less effort than tricking me into doing it."

Neal furrowed his brow as he spotted the cylindrical carrying case that Mozzie had left on the table. Having been distracted by Neal's issues with the museum and the egg Mozzie had completely forgotten about it. Curious Neal opened the container and pulled out the rolled up Kandinsky. Putting the canvas down he pulled out his phone and dialed Mozzie.

"Neal?" Mozzie answered sleepily.

"Mozzie, what the hell is this?" Neal demanded.

"I don't know, since I'm not in the room with you and have no idea what you're looking at."

"I'm looking at a travesty of art."

"Oh, right, that...uh...it's the Kandinsky you asked for." Mozzie said sheepishly.

"You have got to be kidding me."

"It's the best I could do on such short notice. I'm sure it will fool your buyer."

"It wouldn't fool a four year old." Neal growled.

"I was hoping you could fix it up somehow."

"Mozzie this isn't even a real painting, it's a giclee printing with clear gesso brush strokes over it."

"It's 'museum quality'." Mozzie said defensively.

"Museum Gift Shop quality maybe."

"Neal, I don't know what you expected. Usually if I needed a good quality oil painting forgery in less than five days I would go to you. There isn't anyone local or otherwise that is a fraction as good as you are."

"As I was." Neal corrected bitterly.

"I'm sorry, Neal. I didn't mean to..."

"We need a forgery to use, a good one." Neal interrupted. "Something that already exists, something we can get to Peter." Neal mulled over the problem in his head.

"You've got all sort of good work stored in..."

"I can't just walk into the FBI with some random forgery and say 'Hey, I couldn't do the Kandinsky but I happened to have this laying around'."

"Right, of course."

"The Revue." Neal said suddenly. "We can use The Revue."

"The Everett Shinn you did that's at the Whitney?"

"Yes. It's perfect."

"Not very Russian." Mozzie pointed out.

"Peter thinks that Fisher isn't buying art for art's sake but rather to turn his cash into something more portable for when he disappears. I can always make up some story as to why I didn't bring the Kandinsky to the meet. If he's just looking for art the Revue is worth just as much if not a little more meaning I can give him a good 'deal' on it."

"I still don't see how you're going to get the painting to Peter."

"I'm going to break into the Whitney and when Peter and I are called to the case I can point out the forgery and make the suggestion that we use it in the Fisher case."

"What are you going to tell Peter about the Kandinsky?"

"I had already told him that I might not be able to do it in such a short amount of time. I can present this as a solution."

"I guess that could work." Mozzie said not sounding very keen on the idea.

"Not only that but I can kill two birds with one stone with this Fisher case."

"What do you mean?"

"I think whoever tricked me into stealing the egg is actually collecting them for some reason. I can draw them out with another egg."

"You happen to have one of those hanging around your apartment do you?" Mozzie mocked.

"No, but I do know someone who has one."

"You know someone who has a Faberge Egg and you didn't tell me about it?" Mozzie asked indignantly.

"It's not just any Faberge, it's the Royal Danish."

"One of the lost eight?" Mozzie asked impressed.

"Only seven are still lost, the Third Imperial Egg was found in 2012 by an American scrap metal dealer who almost had it melted down. Actually I guess now there are technically ten lost with the recent thefts."

"Who has the Danish?"

"An old friend." Neal answered evasively. "The important thing is that I think they will be willing to bargain with me for it."

"Bargain with what?"

"I'll be at the Whitney anyway, I'm sure there is something there that they'll want. Once I have the egg I can slip it into Fisher's collection and then when we arrest him the egg will be put into evidence at the FBI and our mystery player will try and trick me into getting it for them. This time we can set a trap of our own."

"...Neal are you high?" Mozzie asked suspiciously.

"No, I haven't had anything in hours. I went for a run this morning, it got my adrenaline up."

"I can see that, you're practically manic. Are sure that it's just percoce..."

"Give it a rest, Mozzie." Neal interrupted. "For the last time: I don't have a drug problem."

"Okay...so let me get this straight, instead of talking to Peter you're planing several more crimes?" Mozzie asked. "Usually I'd be all for it, but this all seems to be just asking for trouble and on top of that none of it sounds like it's going to turn a profit."

"This isn't about money, Mozzie, it is about figuring out who's playing me."

"I know but..."

"Right now my biggest fear is that it isn't Peter who set me up, if it was him and he's just looking to keep me I could live with that...literally."

"I'm not following you at all." Mozzie admitted. "You got pretty pissed at me when I suggested it might be the Suit."

"I still don't think it was him. Which means he probably wouldn't be able to help me even if he wanted to right now."

"Neal..."

"I'm fighting for my life here, Mozzie." Neal said seriously. "If I end up back in prison I won't last a week, I might not even survive my first night. I need to figure out who is doing this to me before I go to Peter for help."

There was a long pause where nothing was said. Neal could easily imagine the look of concern on Mozzie's face as he sat on the other end of the phone line. Mozzie was an expert thief and con man, but as a general rule he had a lower risk tolerance than Neal had. If the score was large enough he'd step out on a limb, but he tended to play it relatively safe and made sure that every step was well planned.

"Neal, I don't say this often, but I think you're getting in way too deep."

"Once you're in deep you've only got two options: sink or swim."

"Either way, Neal, there is a high risk of drowning."

"There is always that risk, Mozzie, but I've never let it stop me before."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

"Nick Halden, well aren't you a sight for sore eyes."

"Hello, Vivian." Neal greeted warmly.

"The years have been kind to you." Vivian said approvingly as she looked Neal over with a smile.

"You've barely aged a day yourself."

"Such a sweet tongue. You've always been a master of flattery. I may not look my age, but it has cost me a sizable fortune to keep a step ahead of Father Time." Vivian admitted. "Come inside, Nick, if you dare."

Neal chuckled and stepped inside the opulent beach home that was settled in the center of East Hampton's coast line. Vivian was twenty years older than Neal was, but whoever her surgeon was clearly knew what he was doing, she barely looked forty-five. Looking around the richly decorated front room that held pictures of King Charles Spaniels rather than family Neal got the impression that Vivian never did settle down and marry. A fact that didn't surprise him in the least.

Vivian's leopard print heels by Walter Steiger clicked against the marble floor as she lead Neal into the side drawing room. She wore a deep green dress that Neal guessed had been custom designed just for her with a form fitting top that showed off an impressive bust line that was several sizes larger than Neal remembered them being. The corseted waist kept her in an hour glass figure that the flared knee length skirt accented. Vivian motioned to a plush leather love seat to invite Neal to sit down. Neal accept the offer as Vivian turned towards the wet bar that took up the far wall.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Water, please. *Just* water." Neal clarified.

"Oh, Nick, it's been a good twenty years since I last drugged anyone."

"That is not true. We last met fifteen years ago and it took me three days to get over the hangover."

"I see you are just as prone to exaggeration as ever." Vivian chuckled as she stepped up to the bar and poured herself half a tumbler of vodka.

"You almost killed me." Neal teased.

"Nonsense. As I recall you had a wonderful time."

"Very little of which I actually remember."

"How was I supposed to know you'd never done any recreational drugs before?" Vivian asked as she poured a glass of water into a crystal glass. She brought over both drinks and offered Neal the water. "I just wanted you to have some fun."

"You wanted information." Neal corrected as he took the glass.

"Among other things." Vivian chuckled with a wink. "Why are we still talking about this? I doubt you hunted me down over some fifteen year old grudge, particularly since you weren't dissatisfied with the results of that night at the time. We were young and foolish...well at least you were young. Are you angry with me?"

"No." Neal assured. "I need a favor."

"Oh." Vivian smiled mischievously and sipped at the vodka. "I like the sound of that very much."

Neal tensed as Vivian invited herself onto the small leather love seat by straddling his lap and sitting on his hips facing him. The rich spicy scent of her Caron's Poivre perfume invaded Neal's senses as she invaded his personal space. Vivian had made her fortune as a world renowned 'Mistress'. She was by no means a prostitute, but rather a collector of rich and powerful men who were hoping to buy her love not her just body. It was a con as old as time and Vivian was one of the best.

"So what can I do for you?" Vivian purred.

"I need something that I gave to you back. I assume you still have it."

"Of course I do, I wouldn't sell it for all the money in the world. What do I get in return?"

"What do you want?"

"You know what I want." Vivian chuckled as she leaned in and kissed the side of Neal's neck.

"Vivian..."

"Still such a traditionalist, sex for love not sport. You're no fun." Vivian sighed as she sat back. "Oh well, you're probably more than my heart can handle these days anyway."

Vivian pushed herself back and got off Neal's lap with surprising grace. Draining the rest of her drink Vivian went back over to the bar that held a phone fashioned to look like an old gold and ivory rotary phone. Neal stretched out his arm and rubbed at his shoulder, having suffered a sudden flare up when Vivian had made herself comfortable. Vivian only briefly spoke into the phone before she walked back over.

"Charles will be here with it soon."

"You're just giving it to me?" Neal asked surprised.

"I do have some guilt over what happened between us all those years ago." Vivian admitted.

"Two people running opposite cons on one another...someone was bound to get hurt."

"Occupational hazard, as they say." Vivian smiled.

With the tension between them reduced Neal and Vivian filled the next twenty minutes with friendly chatter about what they had been doing over the past fifteen years. Neal doubted that a signal word of what Vivian told him was true, but that was okay since everything he told her in return was a lie as well.

Eventually Charles arrived with a steel sided case that was about a foot tall and only slightly smaller in the other two directions with a handle on top. Neal thanked Vivian again and took the case after a quick inspection. Getting into the sports car that Mozzie had gotten for him Neal started on the two and half hour drive back to New York city from the Hamptons. Getting back to the city Neal left the car where he'd found it and continued on foot towards Grand Central Station. Neal fished out his phone and dialed Mozzie.

"Do you have it?" Mozzie asked, trying to sound calm.

"I do." Neal confirmed. "I'm going to drop it off at Schwartz Travel Services for storage."

"Which one? There are several."

"The one near Grand Central."

"It's a shame that Grand Central got rid of their lockers in the renovation, that was a classic drop off site."

"This will be more secure. I'm going to put your Haversham alias on it so you can pick it up too if need be."

"Good idea. Good luck, I'll see you later."

"Good bye, Mozzie."

Neal hung up the phone and stared at it for a moment before slipping it back in his pocket. The travel service was on 46th street and he had already arranged for a small storage locker for the week. After dropping off the case Neal headed over to Greenacre Park on 51st. He found Mozzie sitting at one of the benches working on a small lap top computer. Neal sat down next to him and leaned in to look at the screen.

"Do I know you?" Mozzie asked rudely.

"Mozzie," Neal sighed "anyone who has done research on me knows that we're friends."

"Still can't be too careful."

"Are you into the travel services security cameras?"

"Of course. Anyone goes near that case we will have eyes on them." Mozzie confirmed. "I can't believe you didn't swing by here and let me take a look at the Danish Royal first."

"Mozzie..." Neal admonished with a mock disapproving look.

"Oh." Mozzie said disappointed. "It's not really the Danish Royal at all is it?"

"If I'd really known where one of the lost Faberge Imperial Eggs was don't you think I would have made a move on it years ago?"

"I don't know," Mozzie shrugged "you've got an odd sense of morality at times. What's really in the case?"

"It's an antique crystal chalice set with platinum, diamonds and sapphires."

"So, not an inexpensive trinket to use as bait."

"Not at all."

"Wait...I don't understand if you don't have the egg how are we going to draw them out? I thought that's what they wanted."

"I just needed them to think I have it, which is why I talked to you about it over the phone."

"Of course, you already know your phone is compromised." Mozzie nodded.

"It's more compromised that I first thought. I can't trust my phone or really anyone I talk to on it anymore."

"What happened now?"

"In order to let them know where the case is I called you, and you answered."

"I most certainly did not. The last time we talked was in person this morning when you asked me to tap the security cameras."

"I know, I picked up on that when 'you' asked me which travel service I was taking it to. They do a perfect impression of you just like they did with Peter."

"Impressive."

"Frightening." Neal corrected.

"It's also a little bold of them. I mean they would have to know that you'd figure out it wasn't me as soon as we talked."

"I don't think they care. They already know that I realized it wasn't Peter, all they needed right now was the location of the case."

"These people are organized, Neal. Not to mention keeping a really close eye on you."

"I know." Neal glanced around. "I assume you have your radio scrambler on you?"

"Always, no one who isn't in physical ear shot can pick up on anything we're saying."

"Good. I put the tracker you gave me in the case, but I'm sure they will look for it."

"Never hurts to try."

Neal nodded in agreement and looked out over the park. Since they had been sitting there no one person in particular had looked like they were actively spying on them. Everyone looked like they were coming and going while minding their own business. Of course the best tails were the ones you never suspected, like the mother with her young child resting on the bench across the square from them. Feeling a little paranoid Neal jumped slightly when his phone rang. He looked at the caller ID.

"Hey, Peter." Neal greeted.

'Neal,' Peter replied 'feeling any better?'

"I am."

'Good. El is down in Washington for the next few days, I was wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner?'

"Sure, sounds like a plan."

'Seven then?'

"I'll be there."

Neal hung up the phone and put it back in his pocket. The woman across the way suddenly packed up her daughter's toys and left. Neal watched them walking away while he replayed the phone call he'd just gotten in his head looking for abnormalities.

"What did the Suit want?"

"Peter just invited me to dinner. ...at least I hope it was Peter."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

Peter hoisted a large plastic bag of Chinese take-out up onto the kitchen counter. When El wasn't home he tended to abandon their healthy eating habits somewhat. Fishing out the small white boxes Peter didn't bother with plates. Opening the silverware drawer he got out a fork for himself, Neal would use the small wooden chopsticks that came along with the delivery. Satchmo sat down at Peter's feet and look up at him with a hopeful wag.

"I didn't forget about you." Peter assured.

Peter opened one of the boxes that had white rice that was mixed with plain chicken, no sauce. It was a dish that the local Chinese restaurant made just for dogs. Satchmo jumped up and down in excitement as Peter dumped the contents of the box into his metal bowl. Satchmo dove into the meal with gusto and within mere moments he had wolfed it all down.

"I hope you enjoyed that."

Satchmo wagged enthusiastically. Peter went into the fridge to get a pair of beers when the front door bell rang. Setting the beers down on the counter Peter headed to the front door. Flicking the lock he opened the door to let Neal in. Neal smiled brightly in greeting as he stepped inside and sniffed at the air.

"Take-out?" Neal guessed.

"You didn't expect me to cook did you?"

Neal just laughed and headed in towards the kitchen. Peter was relieved to see Neal relaxed and looking like he might have actually gotten some sleep. Peter followed Neal into the kitchen and opened the beers before handing one over to Neal. Placing a set of chopstick on top of the box marked 'BD' Peter pushed the meal towards Neal who picked it up and peeked inside.

"Ah, Buddhist Delight. My favorite. Thank you, Peter."

"No problem. Let's sit in the living room."

"No plates, no table, not even a napkin. Enjoying a touch of bachelor life?" Neal asked knowingly.

"I hate it when El is away, but I might as well make the best of it."

Neal followed Peter out into the living room. Peter took a space on the couch and Neal sat in the love-seat on the opposite side of the coffee table. Neal separated the bamboo chopsticks and skillfully used them to eat the vegetable and tofu while Peter was satiated just to use a fork for his pork and snow peas. They ate in a comfortable silence while Satchmo sat watching them, ever hopeful for a handout. Peter finished about half his dinner before he set it down on the coffee table. Picking up his beer he took a few pulls.

"I see you were outside my house early this morning." Peter broke the silence with a casual tone. "Anything in particular you wanted to talk about?"

"How..."

"Satchmo told me."

"What?"

"Never underestimate the bond between Master and Dog." Peter chuckled.

"Bad dog," Neal gently chided Satchmo who wagged at him "I thought you could keep a secret."

"He really can't." Peter reached out and rubbed between the lab's ears. "Actually I caught you on the security camera."

"You've got a camera on your front step?"

"I had it installed after Keller took El."

Peter regretted mentioning Keller. He wanted Neal to relax in hopes that it would make him more open to talking about what was going on. Peter knew that something must be on Neal's mind to have ended up at his house in the pre-dawn hours. However upon hearing Keller's name Neal visibly tensed and dropped eye contact.

"Peter, I'm sor..."

"Don't apologize, Neal." Peter said as he leaned back, a body language trick the FBI had taught him to help suspects to feel more at ease and therefore more likely to talk during interrogation. "We got her back, that's all that mattes."

Neal nodded slightly but he didn't relax. Putting down his own box of take-out Neal picked up the beer and sipped at it. Peter waited a moment to see if Neal would continue the conversation. He was obviously thinking about something, but he didn't look any closer to sharing.

"How's your shoulder?" Peter asked, trying a new approach.

"Better."

"What does your doctor say about it?"

"Just that some pain is to be expected after a trauma like this."

"Has he given you anything for it?"

"There is nothing he can do." Neal said dismissivly.

"Nothing?" Peter repeated surprised. "Do you need a new doctor? I can get you one."

"No. I'm managing."

"It's not good enough to just be 'managing', Neal. Injuries like this can lead to more than just physical disabilities. I've seen Agents take hits that weren't half as devastating as the one you took who never truly recovered because they didn't get the help they need. It can be career ending."

"Well, this isn't really a 'career' for me. I don't exactly have the option of an early retirement."

"No, I suppose you don't." Peter agreed. "However, it wouldn't be unreasonable for us to make a case that you've been injured in the line of duty and that you deserve a longer leave of absence."

"Leave of absence? Peter, are you trying to get rid of me?"

"I'm just trying to help." Peter said honestly. "Is there anything I can do? Anything you want to tell me?"

Neal looked away once again as he fidgeted with the beer bottle in his hands. Peter was a little surprised by how much body language Neal was broadcasting, usually he was very careful about not betraying his thoughts with his actions. It was what made him so good at lying, when Neal lied his whole body was in on it, not just his words. He was so good at it that even his heart rate didn't give him away on a polygraph test. Peter didn't need any technology to tell that something was weighing heavily on Neal's mind.

"Peter, I..." Neal hesitated.

Peter leaned forward again to show Neal that he was listening and waited for Neal to decide if he was going to continue or not. Noticing the way that Neal's ring and middle finger were curling in towards his palm Peter had a sinking feeling that Neal was about to tell him about the fate of the Faberge Egg. They were still looking through the coins for fingerprints, so there was still a chance it wasn't Neal since there was no real evidence to prove it was him. Peter suddenly realized that he'd rather get solid physical evidence than hear a confession from Neal. With evidence he'd have no choice on what route to take, if Neal simply told him it opened up a whole new world of gray areas.

"Nea..."

"Peter, I've basically been on a twenty-four hour crime spree from the moment you took my anklet off." Neal confessed.

"What?"

"Oh yeah, non stop crime. I was in the Hamptons this morning conning a woman out of about two million worth of diamonds and sapphires. I hit two banks just on my way over here." Neal smiled brightly. "My whole apartment is basically wall to wall loot. It's amazing."

"You're such an ass, Neal." Peter shook his head as he sat back.

"Me? Look at you. I thought you asked me over here tonight as a friend."

"I did."

"Then why are you acting like a handler?"

"What?"

"Don't play innocent with me, Peter." Neal teased. "I see you changing your body language to encourage me to talk. You learned that in Interrogation 101."

"And you threw it right back at me with your nervous fidgeting." Peter managed a smile. "I should have known you'd never be that easy to read."

"Never play a player."

"Alright, alright, truce." Peter drained the last of his beer. "I did mean what I said about getting you more help if you need it."

"I know." Neal said seriously. "And I appreciate it."

"Let's change the subject." Peter said as he got to his feet. "And get another beer."

"I'm all for that." Neal finished off his beer and offered Peter the empty bottle as he walked by.

Peter took the bottle and headed into the kitchen. After throwing the bottles in the recycle he looked back out in the living room just in time to see Neal rubbing at his shoulder and stretching his hand out. Peter had a feeling that Neal had been close to telling him something important and had lost his nerve at the last minute. The tongue in cheek confession was probably closer to the truth than Peter wanted to know about. Neal had often used humor to cover up other feelings and to evade serious discussions.

"Even if you didn't take the egg you are hiding something." Peter sighed to himself. "Of course that's nothing new. If it was up to me I doubt I'd ever let him off that anklet."

"Peter?" Neal called from the living room. "You say something?"

"No. Nothing important."


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

"Any movement on the case?"

"Um..." Mozzie shifted his weight uncomfortably. "It's...uh...it's gone."

"Did you get a look at who took it?"

"No." Mozzie sighed. "They cut the feed on the security cameras before they went in."

"Of course they did." Neal shook his head slightly. "I never really thought they were going to fall for such a simple trap, but I had to try something. I take it they found the tracker?"

"Almost instantly. And now they had several million in diamonds and sapphires."

"No. It's a fake."

"A fake?"

"It had been part of a con I was running years ago on a woman named Vivian. Things got a lot more complicated than I ever planed, she was a much more dangerous mark that I had first guessed...anyway in the end I gave the forgery to her as a gift."

"So all of this was for nothing?"

"It was a low risk, low reward type move. I just didn't have a better card to play."

"You still don't."

"I know."

Neal had been hoping that a bit more information would come from the case trap, but he wasn't in the least bit surprised that it had failed. He looked around Mozzie's 'Thursday' apartment as he shivered with a sudden cold. He was feeling a little guilt over his decision to avoid telling Peter the truth a few hours ago while they were having dinner together, but he knew it was for the best. Since no one was currently blackmailing him over the egg theft Neal felt that what Peter didn't know wouldn't hurt either of them. He would get more information and then seek Peter's help if he needed it.

"No sense in putting Peter in a difficult position...again." Neal muttered to himself.

"What?" Mozzie asked confused.

"Nothing."

"So what do we do next?"

With his arm threatening to seize up on him again and the constant ache in his shoulder turning once more towards a stabbing pain Neal wasn't really interested in his mystery puppet master. He realized he hadn't been thinking very well lately and that made it even more worrisome that he was up against a clever unknown foe, but at the same time he couldn't find it in himself to care right now. Three months of pain was really starting to wear him down. Cradling his arm against his stomach Neal sighed heavily.

"Neal?" Mozzie asked concerned.

"I don't want to play any more." Neal said wearily.

"Nea..."

"I'm going home."

"Are you sur..."

"I can't do this right now," Neal snarled "I am not interested in chasing my tail or jumping at shadows tonight. I just want to be left alone."

Mozzie coward slightly from Neal's sudden harsh tone. Neal thought about apologizing, but he was feeling increasingly sick to to his stomach and just wanted to get home. Leaving Mozzie behind Neal walked home at a quick pace, grinding his teeth from the nervous energy that was prickling under his skin. By the time he got home his arm was nearly paralyzed by the sharp pain that lanced through it. He had told himself he was going to cut back on the pain killers, but tonight he needed them.

"What if this never gets better? I can't keep doing this..."

Going over to the counter Neal struggled with the childproof cap on the prescription bottle. He made the decision that he would take Peter up on his offer to find a new doctor in the morning. Even if the new one didn't believe him at least he would have tried. Finally getting the bottle open he shook six of the pills into his good hand and turned on the tap. Neal didn't noticed that four out of the six white pills were slightly larger than the other two. Downing the handful in one go Neal then splashed some of the cold running water on his face. Drying off with a dish towel Neal stumbled over to the bed and laid down on his back.

Staring at the ceiling Neal expected the effects of the percocet to quickly numb both his body and mind. Usually within a few minutes the drugs would relax him to the point where he didn't have the strength to care about anything. More than just the physical it took the emotional pain away as well. Rachel's betrayal had cut him deeper than he had been willing to admit even to himself, her violent death only made matters worse, and the lingering effects of his ruined shoulder acted as a reminder every second of the day. Now that someone new was after him it was starting to threaten his already stressed sanity. The percocet had been the one release through it all. Once the power opioid took hold the only thing that tended to be on Neal's mind was how comfortable he was, like being wrapped in a soft warm summer's day cloud.

Tonight however something was different, something was wrong. Instead of his breathing slowing down it was becoming more raid and shallow. Despite the fact that he was laying still his heart was beginning to race painfully fast. Breaking into a cold sweat Neal panicked as he spiraled further out of control. Clawing at the sheets Neal arched back as he came close to having a seizure. Gasping sharply Neal managed to sit up as the room spun violently around him. Suddenly feeling like he could out run a race horse Neal got to his feet and paced back and forth as he compulsively dragged his hands through his hair.

"You know what your problem is, Neal? Pride. It always has been, right from the very beginning. That's why you don't go to Peter when it would be so easy to do so. He is always there for you, you are never there for him." Neal rambled to himself, speaking so fast that his words were tripping over one another. "Keller could have killed Elizabeth, and for what? Nazi blood treasure? Why would you even want it? Millions suffered and died having that treasure stolen from them, families across Europe and the world were torn apart and you wanted to profit from that? How could that be a horde that you were ever proud to try and keep? You've got Dragon Sickness, that's your problem, Neal. Greed, pure and simple greed."

Unable to see the erratic change in his own behavior Neal continued to roam aimlessly around the room talking to himself making wild gestures with his hands. His heart was pounding so hard that it was in danger of failing. Putting his palms over his ears Neal growled in frustration at all of the noise that was echoing around inside his head. Neal looked around his apartment in terror as it suddenly appeared to be filled floor to ceiling with the ill gotten goods of the Nazi treasure.

"No, no it's never been about the money." Neal countered his own argument. "It's always been about the thrill about being the best. Or is about control? When was the last time you felt like you had any control over your life, Neal? It's been almost a decade since you've had any say in what happens to you. Prison, Kate, Fowler, Peter, Keller, Hagen, someone is always dictating what you do, someone is always threatening everything you stand for. Stand for? What do I even stand for? It's no small wonder I can't trust Peter, I'm always going behind his back. How can I trust him when he shouldn't trust me?"

Neal fixated on this last point for a moment as he began rubbing at his forearms and grinding his teeth. Neal shook his head to try and clear it but it only scrambled his thinking further. Panting for breath tears slipped down Neal's face as he continued to fall deeper into his drugged psychosis.

"It's happening all over again, someone else out there wants control of me. Why even bother?" Neal lamented as his mind jumped from topic to topic. "What use I am I to anyone anymore? Who would want power over a con man who is blind to being played or worse yet an artist who can't paint? I've lost everything or rather Peter took it from me. No...wait...that doesn't sound right. He never meant to hurt me, not that his intentions changes the fact that he did. Am I still angry with him? Was I ever angry at him, or was it myself? Am I talking too much? I feel like I'm talking too much. Mozzie, what you think?"

Neal stared at a coat draped over the back of one of the kitchen chairs that he was hallucinating was his friend. Neal waited in silence for a few minutes while he got no response out of the coat. Looking around the empty apartment Neal shivered before breaking into a manic laughter. Eventually calming down Neal decided that he felt good, better than he had in his entire life in fact. There was a small nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him something was wrong, but it was hard to focus on when everything else felt so right.

"I was supposed to do something tonight. What was it? Oh, right, break into the Whitney. Better get on that..."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Fifteen

"I miss you, Hon."

"I miss you too." Elizabeth's voice purred through the phone. "How's everything going?"

"You mean Neal being off anklet?"

"Is he staying out of trouble?"

"I doubt it." Peter sighed. "I had him over for dinner, he was his usual glib self."

"You expected something different?"

"He wants to tell me something, I know he does, he just can't seem to. I don't know how to get him to talk."

"You can start by not using terms like 'get him to talk'." Elizabeth chuckled. "You get criminals to talk, you offer friends a chance to open up."

"Not going to happen." Peter rolled his eyes. "Not even sure I want it to."

"Well, if Neal really needs your help he'll come to you." Elizabeth said confidently.

"I wish I had as much faith in Neal as you do."

Peter smiled at Elizabeth's musical laughter. Looking over at the empty side of the bed he said good night to his wife and ended the call. With the phone still in hand he briefly considered calling Neal, it wasn't that late at night and he was sure that he'd still be awake. Deciding that he really wouldn't know what to say even if he did call Peter put the phone down on the night stand an settled into bed.

Dawn was just starting to break when Peter was woken by something being out of place. Sitting up in bed it took him a moment to figure out what was wrong. There was a faint odor of bacon in the air. Getting out of bed Peter quietly walked over to the bedroom door and opened it. He could hear faint noises coming from kitchen down stairs. Confused Peter's first thought was that Elizabeth had come home early, but there really wouldn't have been any reason for her to leave Washington in the middle of the night to make the five hour drive to get home.

Wearing a pair of flannel plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt Peter retreated back into his bedroom and retrieved his gun from the small safe in the closet. Weapon in hand he crept silently down the stairs and through the living room. Approaching the open style kitchen Peter stayed close to the wall with his gun aimed at chest height. Peeking around the corner he froze when he discovered Neal busy at the stove with various pans of food on each of the four burners and ingredients spread out everywhere.

The island counter between the kitchen and the dinning room was covered in plates of well presented meals ranging from breakfast all the way through to dessert. Satchmo was sitting a few feet from Neal, staring at him intently with the tip of his tail wagging. Moving with more energy than Peter had seen him with in a long time Neal danced to a song that was only playing in his own head. Peter flicked the safety back on his weapon and hid it on the top shelf of the entertainment center before stepping up to the island counter.

"Neal?"

"Good morning, Peter!" Neal greeted cheerfully.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"Cooking." Neal answered simply as flipped over the crepe he was working on.

"I can see that. Why?"

"I don't know, I'm not hungry, but this seemed like a good way to pass the time, you were sleeping, I didn't want to wake you up, I hope you're hungry, someone has to eat all this, and it is your food after all, Elizabeth keeps such a wonderfully well stocked kitchen."

"Neal, why are you talking so fast?" Peter asked growing increasingly concerned.

"Honestly, I'm still a little high."

"High?" Peter repeated in surprise. "On what?"

"I...I have no idea." Neal turned away from the stove revealing that his blue eyes were dilated to the point of looking black. "It's really strong whatever it is, and I took a lot of it. Way too much. I think it's starting to wear off though."

"You're taking an unknown drug? Have you lost your min..."

"Also, I broke into the Whitney." Neal admitted freely. "It was a lot of fun, easier than I remember it being."

"You what?!"

"Don't worry, Peter, I didn't take anything."

"I'm worried," Peter said firmly "I'm very worried."

"Have something to eat." Neal offered helpfully.

Having heard more than enough Peter rounded the counter with an expression that caused Neal to back away from him. After turning off the stove burners and the oven he took Neal by the upper arm and dragged him out into the living room. He flicked on the lights causing Neal to squawk in protest as he was momentarily blinded. Peter guided Neal over to the couch and released him.

"Sit." Peter ordered doing his best to keep his temper.

Neal peacefully sat down on the edge of the couch suddenly looking very tired. He went to lay down but Peter put his hand on his shoulder to keep him sitting up. Neal flinched but conceded to staying up. The last thing Peter needed right now was for Neal to fall asleep and slip into a coma. Neal stared up at Peter anxiously as Peter reached down and pressed his fingers against Neal's throat to check his pulse. Finding Neal's heart running on overdrive and his skin hot to the touch Peter swore under his breath.

"Give me your phone." Peter said having left his own upstairs.

Neal handed over his phone without protest. Peter was surprised to find that Neal didn't bother having a code lock on his phone as he swiped the screen to activate it. Neal furrowed his brow as he watched Peter with the phone.

"What are you doing?" Neal asked.

"Calling 9-1-1."

"Peter, no, please, I can't go to the hospital." Neal said suddenly in a panic. "I get treated for illegal drugs and I'm going back to prison where I will be killed. Honestly I'd rather have a fatal heart attack in your living room than be beaten to death in a cell. Besides, it's wearing off, I haven't hallucinated in over an hour. I'm fine, really."

Peter had already dialed the short number and had his thumb over the 'send'. Neal didn't make any move to physically stop him from completing the call, but the genuine fear in his dilated eyes kept Peter from calling for help against his better judgement. To his credit Neal did look like he was starting to come down off whatever he was on. He was at least able to sit still even if he was still overly talkative. Peter shut off the phone and tossed it down on the couch.

"Thank you."

"What the hell were you thinking?!" Peter snarled.

"I didn't think I was taking anything like this. I thought it was percocet, I swear, I was just looking for break from the pain. I've never done anything like this. It was an accident."

"There is always an excuse with you, Neal."

"I know, I really need to work on that."

Shaking his head in frustration Peter left Neal in the living room while he ducked into the downstairs bathroom. Grabbing a washcloth he ran it under a cold tap before wringing it out. Peter brought the washcloth and a dry towel out into the living room. Neal had already laid down on the couch and closed his eyes. Sitting on the coffee table Peter pressed the cold cloth against Neal's forehead to help bring down his temperature. Neal fluttered his eyes open and looked up at Peter with an grateful smile.

"Thank you." Neal muttered as he struggled to keep his eyes open.

"You really need to stay awake, Neal."

"I'm so sorry, I never meant for things to get this out of hand."

"Just don't die on my couch, okay?"

"Deal." Neal chuckled.

"Can you sit up? You need to be drinking water."

Rather than answer Neal just began to try sitting up. Peter slipped his hand under Neal's shoulder and when he use the purchase to help him up Neal cried out sharply. Surprised by the reaction Peter jerked his hand away. Already halfway up Neal managed to make it the rest of the way. Holding his arm against his chest Neal looked like he might pass out at any moment. Peter's initial anger at Neal faded, replaced by a genuine concern.

"Neal, this isn't normal. You should be getting better not worse. I know you don't want to go to the hospital now, but we need to get you help for your shoulder if nothing else."

"Good luck with that." Neal said bitterly. "I have 'convict' and 'drug seeker' stamped on my medical record, no one is ever going to look past that."

"I don't believe that."

"During my four years I saw at least a dozen men die at the prison from what were probably preventable problems because no one believed them when they said they were in pain, they never got any kind of treatment. If you weren't actively bleeding you weren't taken seriously."

"You're not in prison anymore."

"The same prejudices still apply, I've already been told this is all in my head."

"We will find someone who will listen, I promise."

Neal didn't look convinced as he hugged his arm closer. Peter waited a minute before retreating into the kitchen to get Neal a glass of water. Neal accepted the glass and sipped cautiously at the liquid. Peter sat in the love-seat across from the couch and watched Neal who was staring vacantly at the floor. He certainly wished that Neal had come to him under better circumstances, but he was grateful that he had sought him out tonight rather than just crawling back to his own apartment like a wounded animal.

"Something else you want to tell me?" Peter asked. "You're never going to get a better chance than now to play on my sympathy."

"I took the Faberge Egg."

"Damn it, Neal. Any particular reason why?"

"Because you told me to."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen

"This is all my fault." Peter sighed heavily.

"Wow...that is literally, and I mean *literally*, the last reaction I was expecting."

Neal had told Peter the story of breaking into the museum starting with being woken in the early hours by his phone and finishing with handing the egg over to what turned out to be a stranger in the dark alley under the bright lights of the car. He collaborated his story by showing Peter the call log and the texts back and forth when he had hesitated to take the egg. Peter had remained dead silent during the story and it had taken him a full minute to react to it at all.

"I haven't been...entirely honest with you lately." Peter admitted.

"Peter," Neal said in mock admonishment "you disappoint me. You're supposed to be teaching me through example."

Peter narrowed his eyes at Neal to warn him not to push his luck.

"Sorry." Neal apologize. "What did you want to tell me?"

"I didn't approve your conditional release. I was never even consulted."

"What? Why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't stop the release, and I didn't want to undermine your chances of success by telling you that I didn't think you could handle it. At the time I figured that a vote of confidence was more important than the full truth."

"You don't think I'm ready?"

"Neal," Peter said seriously "you've been off anklet for three days, you've already broken into two art museums, my house, and nearly overdosed on drugs that you bought off the street."

"It wasn't my fault..."

"Why didn't you tell me right away?" Peter demanded. "Why did you just stand there the next day and make 'guesses' as to who had broken in and taken the egg? Why didn't you just tell me someone tricked you into it?"

"Because I didn't think you'd believe me."

Peter took a breath to make an angry retort, but before he could open his mouth he realized that Neal was right. He wouldn't have believed him at the time. The only reason he trusted him now was because he could see that Neal was too worn down to lie. Slumped on the couch cradling his arm that was twisted in an unnatural position Neal was looking closer to collapse by the second. Peter still didn't like the idea of letting Neal lay down so he kept him talking.

"Clearly we still have some trust issues, but that isn't news to either one of us."

"Not really." Neal agreed.

"Let's forget that for the moment. The most important issue right now is your health. Just how much pain medication are you on?"

"As little as possible, I know the dangers."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"It varies, but lately five to six at a time, three to four times a day, but..." Neal hesitated to continue.

"But what?"

"Until recently I've been chewing them. I didn't know that you weren't supposed to. It made them work faster and I didn't think it really mattered. Apparently though without the time release aspect it hits the blood harder with a greater risk of physical dependency."

"I don't know enough about percocet to know if fifteen to twenty-four pills a day is enough to cause an addiction, but it certainly sounds like a lot."

"It's about three times the amount that I was originally prescribed." Neal admitted quietly. "I absolutely have a physical dependency on them, but I was warned that that could happen even on the original prescription dose. On the days when I don't have much pain I still need to take three every six hours to keep withdrawal symptoms under control. However I promise you I am not emotionally addicted. I want nothing more than to be able to stop taking them."

"That's a good start, Neal." Peter nodded. "What about this other stuff? What are the addiction risks to that?"

"I don't even know what it is. It must have been mixed in with the percocet that I bought, I may have one or two before along with the percocet, but this was the first time I'd taken enough of it to really notice."

"We need to find out what you took."

"I'll have Mozzie look into it. Whatever it is I can tell you right now I am in *no* way interested in taking any more. Last night was a nightmare, this morning isn't much better."

Peter believed that Neal had learned his lesson from the small amount of 'dragon chasing' he'd done last night. He also felt no need to distrust what he was hearing about the medication abuse. Neal had been hiding his pain, not his drug use. Now that Peter knew about the pain Neal seemed open to talking about what he had been doing about it. It didn't seem like the behavior of a proper addict, it wasn't that he was denying that there was a problem, he just didn't know a better way to cope.

Peter silently cursed himself for not noticing how badly Neal had been struggling over the past three months. He had known something was wrong but he had assumed it was more emotional than physical. He wasn't very good at dealing with emotional problems so it had been easier to just sit back and hope that time would fix everything. Unfortunately time had just made the burden more difficult to bear.

It was a relief to hear that Neal wanted to distance himself from the narcotics. However, Peter still feared that there was a real danger that Neal's physical addiction could easily become a mental one if he didn't get the right help and fast. Talking about the drugs wasn't helping Neal's currently physical state any. He had closed his eyes and wrapped his arms over his stomach as he ground his teeth together. Still wanting to keep him awake Peter changed the subject.

"What are the chances that you left fingerprints on the quarters in the soda machine?"

"You thought to check the quarters? You are good."

"Neal..."

"I wasn't very careful because I didn't think I was doing anything wrong. I took my gloves off to make getting the coins easier. Chances are high that my prints are on at least one of them."

"Damn it." Peter muttered. "Okay, we will just have to deal with that as it comes."

"Thank you for..."

Peter got to his feet as Neal suddenly stopped. Grimacing Neal's jaw line tightened as he clenched his teeth.

"Neal?"

"Peter," Neal moaned "I'm going to be sick..."

"Not out here you're not, El will kill us both. She loves this damn rug."

Neal managed a weak chuckle as Peter helped him to his feet. Peter lead Neal into the near by bathroom as quickly as he felt was safe. Neal collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet as he began retching against his mostly empty stomach. With his own stomach churning Peter backed away and stepped out of the small bathroom to offer Neal some privacy and to help him keep his own stomach under control.

A few minutes later Neal was still violently dry heaving to the point where it sounded to Peter like he was having trouble catching his breath. When the sound degraded into a wet choking sound Peter rushed back into the bathroom. Neal was on his hands and knees drooling a yellow tinted foam onto the floor as his stomach continued its powerful unproductive contractions. Unable to relax his stomach Neal couldn't manage anything more than a shallow gasp.

Snatching a towel off the rack Peter dropped down next to Neal and used it to clear away as much of the froth as he could to help clear his airway. Neal spat repeatedly but couldn't seem to calm down as he gaped uselessly like a fish left on a sun scorched dock. Instinct was causing him to curl up tighter as his distress turned to true panic which only made it more difficult to gain control of his spasming diaphragm.

Peter guided Neal to sit back on the tile floor which he resisted at first. Sitting down behind him so that he could help support him Peter encouraged Neal to lean back against his chest to help him stretch out his rib cage to allow more air in. Peter wrapped one hand gently around Neal's stomach and brought the other up onto Neal's forehead. Using his purchase Peter forced Neal to bring his head up to open his throat. Starting to go hypoxic Neal clawed at the tile floor as he sucked uselessly for air.

"Relax, Neal, relax, you need to breathe." Peter soothed. "Just like me, nice and slow, calm."

Peter took a deep exaggerated breath so that Neal could feel the rise and fall of his chest in hopes that he would attempt to mimic it. Swallowing convulsively Neal fought to pull a decent amount of air into his lungs. Peter closed his eyes and repeated his own deep breath, willing Neal to do the same. Neal jerked several times and Peter was just about to abandon his tactics in order to call for help when Neal finally drew in a proper breath. Although ragged at first Neal slowly began to recover. Peter was dizzy from drawing too many deep breaths in a row but he continued. Neal only managed a few calm breaths before he passed out. Suddenly going slack his head lolled back onto Peter's shoulder.

"Neal?" Peter shook Neal to try and wake him. "Neal?"

Peter could feel that Neal was still breathing, but he was currently pinned down by his friend's dead weight. Neal was lean, but with all his muscle he was not light and Peter knew he wasn't going to be able to lift him. Unable to wake Neal verbally or with a gentle shake Peter closed his fist and rubbed against Neal's sternum with his knuckles. It was an action that was intended to cause pain as a means of eliciting a response. The sternal rub was often used by paramedics to attempt to rouse unconscious patients. It worked as Neal jerked awake with a cry of panic as he reached up and grabbed Peter's wrist to stop him.

"It's okay, Neal, I just need you to get up. Can you do that? I'll help you."

Neal nodded and began blindly struggling to try and get up. Peter got to his own feet first and helped haul Neal up. Slipping under Neal's left shoulder Peter managed to get him back out to the couch. Neal stayed sitting up but he had his eyes closed and it didn't look like he had the strength to open them. It occurred to Peter that it had probably been more than twenty four hours since Neal got any sleep and even without the drugs he would be struggling at this point.

"Neal, just tell me you're okay and I'll let you sleep. I need to hear your voice or I am calling paramedics."

"I'm okay." Neal whispered hoarsely.

"Alright, lay down."

Neal did not need to be told twice. Laying down on his side Neal was asleep before he could even pull his legs up onto the couch. Peter took Neal's shoes off and brought his legs up onto the couch. He pulled the throw blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over him. Lifting Neal's head Peter sat down so that he could place Neal's head on his lap. He reached down and rested his fingertips lightly on Neal's throat so that he could monitor both his breathing and pulse. Both had returned to a slow steady rhythm, but Peter worried that what he'd witness in the bathroom might have been some form of seizure.

Glancing at the clock Peter realized he was due into the office an hour ago. Not about to go anywhere Peter reached into Neal's jacket and fished out his cell phone. He doubted that a full Mexican brass band could wake Neal at the moment so he didn't worry about placing a call.

"Caffrey?" Jones answered warily.

"No, it's Peter, I'm just using Neal's phone."

"Oh. Well, I've been calling you. I've got bad news."

"You found Neal's prints?" Peter sighed as his stomach twisted painfully. "Jones, I need you to..."

"No, we didn't find Neal's prints, and we're not going to. Or anyone else's for that matter."

"What happened?"

"The lab messed up, the coins are ruined. They were looking for prints using vacuum metal deposition and they put too much gold and not enough zinc into the mix and basically just ended up coating the coins in gold."

"How did this happen? Our lab is better than that."

"My thoughts exactly. I talked directly to the VDM operator and he swears up and down that he did everything perfectly and that someone must have tampered with the machine. You don't think Caffrey..."

"Do we have a time frame when the machine was supposedly tampered with?"

"He was working late, says that the machine worked perfectly at six thirty when he took a break for dinner. He put the coins in around seven thirty."

"Neal was here with me at seven, half an hour wouldn't have been enough time."

"Maybe the lab guy screwed up and just doesn't want to admit it."

"Maybe." Peter said doubtfully.

"I guess it doesn't matter at this point. There is no evidence of a break in at the lab, or of any tampering, and now no evidence that we can get off the coins. We are at a dead end."

"Keep an ear to the ground, that egg is bound to turn up. For right now let's switch most of our focus to the Fisher case, we have three days till the meet up."

"You still sending Caffrey in on the buy?"

"No. I'll to do the meet. Jones, I'm going to be working remotely for the next few days call me if anything changes on the egg or Fisher case."

"You got it, Boss. Is everything okay?"

"Everything is fine."

Peter hated lying to Jones but at the moment he didn't have any other options, at least no other options that he liked. The evidence on the coins being destroyed was a true mixed blessing. It would give them more time to figure out who conned Neal, but it also proved that their foe was well connected. Peter didn't believe for one second that the lab technician had simply made a mistake that he was trying to cover up. Peter looked down on Neal who was sleeping soundly.

"Someone is protecting you from us. I wonder if they know that who you really need protecting from is yourself."


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter Seventeen

_'I wonder if they know that who you really need protecting from is yourself.'_

"Trust me, we know that now. Keeping Caffrey safe from himself is your job Agent Burke, I don't know why I didn't see that before."

Devon Frost smiled to himself as he watched Burke sitting on the couch with Caffrey sleeping on his lap in a small screen that was up on his computer. He reached out and picked up the diamond and sapphire chalice that was sitting on his desk. Bringing it up to his lips he sipped at the diet coke that he'd poured into it. He had been fairly certain that Caffrey didn't really have access to the Royal Danish egg, but at the same time he couldn't help but take the bait on the simple trap Caffrey had set for him.

"Not your best work, but I know you're not really feeling like yourself lately."

Setting down the impressive chalice forgery that was now little more than an office mug Frost stretched out his back for a moment. He had lost some of his muscular build over the past two years now that he was working behind a desk, but he still managed to keep in good shape. Watching Burke keeping a close watch on his unlikely friend Frost scratched absent mindedly at a bright white scar on his forearm that marred his ebony skin.

"This is going to work." Frost commented to himself.

Frost had been up all night worrying about Caffrey. Messing with his medication had been extremely risky, but it had gotten Frost the response he had been hoping for. He knew Caffrey might actually overdose or that he might not seek out Burke for help. However Frost needed to know that Caffrey and Burke still trusted one another in order to proceed. If Caffrey had avoided telling Burke the truth for too much longer he would have been useless to Frost anyway.

There was a quick knock at his door that was instantly followed by it being opened rather than the intruder waiting for a response. Frost looked over his shoulder to find Mike Bryant inviting himself into his small office. His long time partner was preoccupied with his smart phone as he entered. Bryant's blonde hair had gotten long enough to fall into his eyes when he looked down at his phone and he kept raking it back.

"Hey, Frost, I can't find...whoa!" Bryant looked up from his phone and stopped cold as he took a step back with a look of horror. "Damn it, Man, where is your eye?"

"What? Oh, right...sorry." Frost looked around with his remaining good eye spotting the glass eye on his desk. "I took it out. It was bothering me."

Picking up the deep brown glass eye off his desk Frost worked it back into the empty cavity where his original eye used to be. Bryant didn't even try to hide his revulsion as Frost settled the prosthetic into place. In a way Bryant's honest reaction to his disfigurement was refreshing. Most of the other people in his life just awkwardly turned their gaze to the floor and said nothing. Even with the eye in a lot of people couldn't figure out how to look at him, they tended to focus their attention on his living eye unable to make contact with the motionless glass one.

"Frost, you know I love you like a brother, but honestly no one wants to see that. Me least of all." Bryant lamented in a good natured tone. "Get an eye patch or something."

"I had one." Frost said sourly. "Ever since the Avengers movie you wouldn't stop making 'Nick Fury' jokes."

"Oh yeah. I'd forgotten." Bryant chuckled. "I'm a horrible person."

"No arguments here."

"So, what are you up to?"

"Nothing." Frost replied quickly as he turned to close the window that was running the surveillance tape that he'd been watching.

"Please tell me that wasn't Caffrey." Bryant complained in exasperation. "You gotta let that go."

"I'm not ready to give up on him."

"Face it Caffrey is a boondoggle." Bryant said critically. "The Boss is going to have you in front of a firing squad by nightfall when he finds out you're still spying on him."

"I, uh, I may be doing more than just keeping an eye on him." Frost admitted.

"You are so dead." Bryant said seriously. "Although I like what you did there with the keep 'an eye' on him, funny."

"I have a new ide..."

"Stop right there. I don't even want to hear what you've been up to. Caffrey is *done*." Bryant said firmly. "You made sure of that when you hired that MI5 washout to mess with him."

"That wasn't my fault." Frost retorted. "Rachel Turner went totally off script. How was I supposed to know she was going to actually fall for her own cover and turn on us?"

"Perhaps because she was already a traitor when you picked her out?" Bryant pointed out. "You really can't expect someone who sells secrets to terrorists to be loyal or sane for that matter. That one was as crazy as a soup sandwich."

"Red heads." Frost sighed ruefully.

"Women." Bryant corrected.

"Ain't that the truth." Frost chuckled.

"In any case, Caffrey is broken, physically and mentally. Move on to something that is actually going to work and stop wasting your time and resources."

"When your Ferrari breaks down you don't leave it on the side of the road to rust, you fix it. You make it run again."

"I don't have a Ferrari, that's above my pay grade, and this guy isn't just a car you can change a tire on." Bryant argued. "Last time I checked you told me he was drowning his sorrows in pain medication."

"I'm working on that." Frost assured. "I haven't jumped into this blindly or without reason. I tested his skills, he still has them. And Burke proved just this morning that his loyalty to Caffrey is still stronger than his loyalty to the letter of the Law, which is far more key to this working than Caffrey being physically sound. After all we first targeted Caffrey for his mind, not his talent with sleight of hand or a paint brush. If I can get him pointed in the right dire..."

"You're as obsessed as Turner was." Bryant interrupted as he shook his head sadly. "I know you feel guilty over how that operation went down, but we all knew the risks of what we were trying to do. It was far too complicated. Between Hagen, Turner, and Burke, it's a miracle that it turned out as well in the end as it did, and right now I think the best thing you can do for both yourself and Neal Caffrey is to leave him alone."

"I can help him, and he can be invaluable to us in return."

"You are living in a fantasy world, my friend. I just want to go on record that I am against whatever it is you are planing one hundred percent."

Frost jumped slightly as the phone on his desk rang shrilly. The phone only rang once, but that was all it ever did. There was only one person on the planet that had the number and when he called it was a direct order to report to his office immediately if not sooner.

"And it looks like you just got caught." Bryant said needlessly. "Good luck, Mate. It's been nice knowing you."

"Shut it." Frost grumbled. "Caffrey is going to be a powerful asset. I made a mistake the first time, I'm not making it again."

"Mistake? As in singular? Pray tell what is the *one* mistake that you made with Caffrey the first time?"

"I tried to separate him from Burke. It wasn't until Turner was out of the way and they were working together that they found that diamond."

"You really are beyond hope if you think you can get both of them."

"I have to, it's the only way this is going to work. When it comes to that partnership the whole is far greater than the sum of its parts."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter Eighteen

"Peter, I've been your doctor, more than that: your friend, for nearly twenty years. You know I'd do anything to hel..."

"Don't start a conversation with me like that, Tom, just tell me what's wrong with Neal."

"The same thing that has always been wrong with him. He's a borderline pathological liar with sociopathic tendencies."

"No, I refuse to believe that he is mak..."

"Peter, he's conning you." Tom interrupted seriously. "I know you like this kid, but I also know that you blame your high blood pressure on him as well. You and Elizabeth have been telling me 'Caffrey' stories ever since you started working with him."

"This isn't a con." Peter said firmly. "Please, for the sake of argument just pretend for a minute that you believe every word he just told you about his symptoms."

"That's the problem, Peter, his symptoms don't make any sense. Pain may come and go for a lot of different reasons, but the way he describes his neurological symptoms doesn't line up with any kind of nerve damage, and certainly nothing that he could have suffered from the position of that shot. The entry wound is too high and lateral to have struck the brachial plexus, it did a lot of damage but mostly to soft tissue and bone. All of which is healed now. Even if the nerve cluster in the shoulder was damaged he'd be paralyzed down the arm not displaying intermittent spastic tone and pain."

"If Neal was going to fake an injury he would have researched it first." Peter insisted. "If he was lying it would be a better lie, it would be believable."

"Does he have a medical degree?" Tom asked doubtfully.

"No, but he has Web MD like the rest of us do." Peter growled as his began to lose his temper. "I'd be more suspicious of him lying if he presented as a 'text book case'. He wouldn't just give you a list of random symptoms if he wasn't experiencing them."

"If you honestly believe his pain is real then you can try taking him to a Pain Clinic."

"Will they believe him?"

"Honestly...no." The doctor admitted. "They will probably treat him as a drug seeker."

"He's not a drug seeker, he wants off of the stuff he's taking now."

"Then my advice is to send him to a proper rehab facility and let them clean him up. I also have a strong suspicion that he'd not just downing percocet but some form of street drug as well."

"He doesn't have private health insurance. I tell anyone he needs rehab and he's going to end up in a cut rate prison drug program. I can't let that happen."

Tom sighed heavily as he looked at Peter with a worried expression. Peter was getting irritated by his friend's patronizing tone, he couldn't imagine how much worse it must be for Neal to not be trusted by the doctors. All they were doing was asking for help, but all they were hearing was that they didn't need it. Eventually Tom went over to his desk and pulled out his prescription pad.

"Detox will happen quickly, within twelve to twenty-four of last taking it he will seem to suddenly go downhill as the withdrawal sets in. He can't just stop 'cold turkey', the risk of seizure and convulsions is too high." Tom warned as he scribbled on the small pad of official paper. "Two to three pills every six hours for twenty-four hours, then one to two every eight hours for the next forty-eight, then he can safely stop."

"Thank you."

"Even doing this slowly it is going to be a rough ride. Fever, anxiety, muscle pain, restlessness, insomnia, vomiting, drooling, sweating, they are all part of coming down from taking three months worth of percocet in three weeks. He should have come to you with this sooner."

"It's complicated."

"I can see that." Tom handed over the prescription. "Don't bring him back here, Peter."

"Tom..."

" I mean that. If you can't handle him over the next three days or if he starts seizing you call 911. Got it?"

Peter just nodded as he took the script. Looking at the stereotypical messy handwriting Peter furrowed his brow.

"Tom, this prescription has my name on it."

"I'm not writing anything for Caffrey, I don't want to get involved any more than I already am. As far as I'm concerned he was never here and if anyone asks you fell in the shower and bruised your tailbone so I gave you something to take the edge off for a few days."

Peter was going to protest but he realized that it wasn't going to get him anywhere. Taking the paper he left Tom's office and headed out into the waiting room. Neal was sitting alone in one of the chairs that was set up against the wall. The other people who were waiting to be seen by the doctor had strategically placed themselves as far from him as they could in the small room, afraid of catching whatever he had.

Although he had looked in rough shape when Peter had first brought him in he looked far worse now. Neal had his head bowed as he leaned forward with his forearms resting on his knees. His skin was already beaded with a fine film of sweat and he was tapping his feet incessantly. Reaching up he rubbed the back of his hand across his face to brush away the thin line of saliva that had slipped down his chin. Peter briefly thought of calling Tom out into the waiting room, but he had already been warned that this wasn't going to be pretty.

Neal didn't look up as Peter approached. He just stared at the floor between his feet as he started opening and closing his hand with a low growl of pain. It suddenly occurred to Peter that it had been at least twelve hours if not longer since Neal had taken any percocet. Whatever he had taken the night before may or may not have been mixed with percocet. Neal had spent a solid seven hours sleeping on the couch while Peter watched over him. It had taken another hour to arrange to see Tom and they had been there for another hour. Peter had assumed that the detox wouldn't really start until tomorrow, but it was clearly happening right now and it was only going to get worse.

"Neal?"

"He thinks I'm conning you." Neal said sounding more defeated than angry. "He told me point blank that he thinks I'm faking this."

"I know." Peter said quietly. "I'm sorry, I thought he would listen."

"No one will ever believe me."

"That's not true...I believe you."


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter Nineteen

Frost made his way down the hallway purposefully making his natural limp slightly more pronounced. He knocked on the door at the end of the hall, but didn't bother waiting for a reply. There was no need since he'd already been summoned and no one bothered seeking an audience unless they were already invited. Still it seemed only polite to at least knock.

Frost stepped into the high end minimalistic windowless office and limped towards the chair in front of Lowell's glass desk. The older man had some of the widest shoulders Frost had ever seen in his life. With his close cropped silver hair and heavy brow Lowell cut an imposing figure as he signed something on his desk.

"Stop limping like that." Lowell growled without looking up. "You're not going to subconsciously make me feel sorry for you."

"See that's the magic," Frost grinned "it's subconscious so you don't even know it's working and therefor you can't stop it."

"I hate you."

"No you don't, if you did you would have had me killed by now." Frost said only half joking.

"I still might if you don't have a damn good reason for continuing on with Caffrey."

"Yes, I do have a good reason for that. Mostly because it worked so well the first time. I mean we'd had that Codex for what? Two years? Caffrey and his team had it figured out in no time."

"And you got a good Agent killed in the process."

"Agent Siegal..." Frost sighed. "That was unfortunate, by that time..."

"By that time your asset Turner was completely out of control." Lowell snarled.

"Which is why I want to handle Caffrey personally on this."

"Absolutely not. Forget it."

"We need to stop using thugs and lunatics if we want to avoid getting people killed along the way. Just look how badly those last two heists in Europe for the eggs went. Never hire mercenaries when what you really need is patriots."

"Caffrey doesn't strike me as a 'patriot'."

"He has his own loyalties at times, but he's a criminal with an ethics code and that's not easy to find these days."

"He's unpredictable."

"That's not true." Frost countered. "He can be very predictable, particularly when Agent Burke is involved."

"Blackmail then? I don't know."

"Not blackmail, at least only as a last resort. Mostly I just want to present them with a challenge, they've always risen to it in the past. Just a gentle push if needed."

"I don't like it. Need I remind you that we are on thin ice as it is?"

"Which is why a huge win is just what we need." Frost pressed. "And Caffrey can get it for us."

"I don't know," Lowell shook his head "he's damaged goods."

"So am I."

Lowell's steel blue eyes softened somewhat and for a moment he was speechless, which wasn't an easy effect to get with him. Frost didn't blame Lowell for the lost of his eye or all the broken bones he'd suffered in his foot, but he also wasn't above using Lowell's own feelings over what had happened to his advantage. Frost saw the weakness and leaned forward slightly to make direct eye contact with Lowell as best he could.

"You didn't give up on me." Frost added.

"That is different and you know it."

"Please, let me put him on the Romanov case."

"The 1922 Diamond Fund? That book is a fake, it has to be."

"Then there is no harm in me giving it to Caffrey."

"From what I've been reading he's in no shape to walk across the street let alone hunt for lost treasure."

"You give me the okay on this and I've got a plan for that too."

"That's you to a 'T' isn't it, Frost?" Lowell rolled his eyes. "You've always got a plan."

"That's why you keep me around." Frost smiled.

"That's what you keep telling me."

"Then let me prove it instead."

Frost held his breath while he waited for Lowell to make a decision. Frost had far greater plans for Caffrey than he was ready to admit to right now, but he wouldn't be able to get anywhere if he didn't get a 'yes' now. Lowell sat back in his chair while he mulled over the proposition. Frost was just about to continue his speech when Lowell reached for a blank piece of paper on his desk and scrawled Caffrey's name and then his own complicated signature on it.

"Fine." Lowell gave in as he offered the page to Frost. "Do it. Caffrey's yours."

"Really?" Frost asked somewhat surprised as he took the paper. "Green light?"

"Green light." Lowell nodded as he got to his feet to signify the meeting was over. "But understand this, Frost, I am expecting zero collateral damage on this. Zero. You get a civilian or God help you another Agent killed you are *through*. I will have you brought up on murder charges. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir."

"And I will play judge, jury, and executioner at your trial."

"Understood."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

"Meow meow!"

"What?" Peter and Neal asked in unison.

Neal and Peter had just arrived at Neal's apartment and had been greeted by an over enthusiastic Mozzie. Neal had taken a step back from his short friend and nearly lost his balance from the vertigo he was experiencing. Peter was on high alert and reached out to steady him. Neal had taken a few of the percocet that Peter had gotten from his doctor which had taken some of the edge off his withdrawal for a moment, but he could feel his symptoms returning with a vengeance.

"Meow meow." Mozzie repeated. "That's most likely the drug Neal was on last night. It's relatively new designer drug referred to on the street as meow meow, since it is a derivative of the khat plant. The compound is more technically known as mephedrone."

"I don't like the sound of that." Neal said anxiously. "That sounds like methadone."

"It's actually more closely related to methamphetamine and ecstasy."

"That does not make me feel better."

"Luckily it's not nearly as addictive as true meth so you should be fine as long as you avoid taking any more."

"Trust me, I'm going to avoid it."

Neal pushed Mozzie out of the way so that he could stumble over to his couch. Laying down on his back Neal draped his arm over his face to shield his eyes from the late afternoon sun that was streaming in through the patio doors. Unable to get comfortable Neal tossed and turned for a moment before giving in and sitting up. Feeling a wash of nausea Neal rubbed at his temples while he took a few deep calming breaths. Peter went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Mozzie looked down at Neal being miserable and shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Uh...how did the doctor's visit go?" Mozzie asked, fearing he knew the answer.

"Not great." Peter grumbled as he offered Neal the water. "Here."

"Thanks." Neal took the glass and sipped at it gingerly. "I should probably have a waste bin too if this is going to get any worse."

"It is." Peter confirmed. "I'll get one."

Peter disappeared into the bathroom to find a bin. Neal put the glass of water down on the coffee table and hugged his arms to his chest as a chill prickled his skin. Mozzie watched as Neal started rocking slightly to try and ease the pain that was creeping into his joints.

"You alright?" Mozzie asked concerned.

"Just withdrawal, I'll get through it."

"And your shoulder?"

"No answers."

Peter returned with the small metal waste bin from the bathroom and set it down on the floor next to Neal. Peter sat down on the hassock that was on the far side of the coffee table and watched Neal with a critical eye. Neal raked his hands through his hair a few times, wondering if he should get up and pace or if he was better off just staying seated.

"You know what your problem is, Neal?" Mozzie asked rhetorically. "Your problem is that you're a zebra."

"A what?" Neal asked even though he was fairly certain he didn't want an explanation.

"A zebra."

"Peter, I'm hallucinating again, he's not making any sense." Neal complained to Peter.

"You're not hallucinating, he is just senseless."

"No, it's a classic medical dilemma. When doctors hear hoofbeats they think of horses, not zebras. They automatically look to a more common explanation rather than a rare one." Mozzie explained. "Now I got on to Right Diagnosis Dot Com earlier and put in the symptoms you've explained to me and the nearest match that came up was Mad Cow Disease. Have you eaten anything lately that had bovine brains as an ingredient?"

"Mozzie..." Neal had to stop as just the mere mention of cow brains churned his already delicate stomach.

"Neal doesn't has Mad Cow Disease." Peter said exasperated.

"Well technically it's called Creutzfeldt-Jakob Disease in humans."

"Mozzie, no." Peter growled.

"It's that or cancer."

"Cancer?" Neal asked alarmed.

"Don't worry about that." Mozzie assured. "These online medical sites always tell you that you have cancer, it's kind of their 'go to' disease."

Neal shot Peter a desperate look of 'please get him out of here'. Peter was already having that exact same thought. Rising to his feet Peter stepped towards Mozzie in a way that caused Mozzie to automatically back away. Neal hated to have Peter chase Mozzie away, but he simply didn't have the strength to deal with his particular brand of problem solving at the moment.

"Mozzie, as you know Neal told me all about this whole getting tricked into stealing the egg thing. Now I assume you've swept this place for bugs?"

"Multiple times just today." Mozzie announced proudly. "It's clean."

"Then how about you check my place for me?" Peter asked fishing his house keys out and offering them to Mozzie.

"Keys..." Mozzie took the keys as if they were dirty somehow. "...cute."

"Can we all just pretend that my house is in some way secure?" Peter grumbled.

"If it helps you sleep at night." Mozzie shrugged. "Feel better, Neal. Keep and eye on him, Suit."

"I will."

Mozzie gave Neal a final word of encouragement before he left. With Mozzie gone Peter pulled off his tie and slipped out of his jacket, both of which he folded over one of the dinning chairs before taking off his shoes. He had every intention of spending the night at Neal's and figured he might as well be comfortable. Going back over to the hassock he sat down.

"Thanks for giving Mozzie something to do other than being here. I love him, but right now..." Neal trailed off.

"I fully understand. I can only deal with Mozzie in small doses even on my best days."

"I know you'd rather not have him alone in your house."

"Small price to pay for not having to hear about mad cows right now."

Neal managed a chuckle but instantly regretted it when his stomach twisted. Peter noticed the change and went to get to his feet but Neal held up his hand to let him know he could stay seated. Taking a moment Neal forced the nausea back.

"Neal, you don't have to fight so hard to prove to me that you're okay, I know that you're not."

"I know. Force of habit."

"I wish you wouldn't insist on hiding from me at every chance you get." Peter sighed.

"I'm just trying to keep you out of trouble. I already regret coming to you last night. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"What are you talking about?"

"What if this isn't about me? What if it's about you?"

"Me?"

"Clearly whoever we are dealing with has ties or at least influence in the FBI. If there is recording equipment in your house then someone has a tape of you listening to me confess to a list of crimes and instead of immediately reporting it you're adding and abetting me."

"I'm more of an accessory after the fact." Peter shrugged.

"You know what I mean. They could blackmail..."

"Neal," Peter interrupted "any blackmail against me with this is very weak, particularly when you consider the effort that has been put into this plot. Since you came to me claiming to be acting under false information I have grounds to say that I was being cautious and investigating it myself before drawing in resources that were possibly tainted. Which for the most part is exactly what I'm doing. As Agent in Charge I'm still well within my duties keeping this a secret."

Leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees for support Neal tried to make sense of what Peter was saying. It was getting difficult to think straight and that was putting him even more on edge. His heart was racing just as quickly as his thoughts as he felt the teeth of some unknown trap closing in on both himself and Peter. It had been bad enough when Neal's father's crimes had put Peter behind bars, Neal wasn't about to let his own mistakes strip his friend of everything again.

"What do they want with us?" Neal snarled in frustration.

"Right now I don't really care."

"What?"

"We need to focus on getting you through the night," Peter said seriously "we'll worry about the rest when it comes."

"I'm fine."

Peter got to his feet and walked around the coffee table. Neal looked up at him questioningly. Rather than saying anything Peter reach down and pressed the back of his hand against Neal's forehead. Neal hadn't even noticed how warm his own skin had become until he felt Peter's comparatively cold touch.

"You're burning up." Peter noted with concern. "Keep drinking. Do you have any aspirin?"

"In the bathroom, but I don't think I can keep it down."

"We should at least try it."

Neal nodded as he reached out for the glass of water that was still on the coffee table. Peter went into the bathroom to get the aspirin but before he could find it he could hear Neal being sick out in the living room. Abandoning the aspirin Peter grabbed a wash cloth and ran it under some cold water and wrung it out. Taking a dry towel as well Peter headed back out to the main living area where Neal was still unproductively dry heaving and spitting into the metal bin.

Peter stepped up to the back of the couch and put his hand on Neal's shoulder to let him know that he was there. Neal reached up and put his hand over Peter's as he continued to battle his stomach. Peter pressed the cold cloth against the back of Neal's neck. Neal jerked slightly in surprise at the icy contact but he quickly relaxed as the cooling effect gave him some relief from the nausea.

Putting the bin down Neal leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. Peter pulled the washcloth out from behind Neal's neck and held it against his forehead. Although the soothing contact helped with the nausea the persistent muscle ache was rapidly becoming more intense. It had been less than an hour since the last dose of percocet but Neal could already feel himself craving more and not just on a physical level.

"Peter," Neal moaned "if you have any mercy just kill me."

"You're going to be alright." Peter said confidently.

"I don't know about that. Even my hair hurts. I don't even know how hair can hurt...but it does."

"Lay down."

"I can't get comfortable."

"Lay down." Peter repeated.

Giving in Neal brought his legs up on the couch as he settled in to lay down. Peter came around the far end of the couch and pulled Neal's shoes off. Neal hadn't even realized that he was still wearing them. Still in the black pants and t-shirt that he'd worn the previous night he tugged at the tight collar since he didn't have a tie to remove or any buttons to undo to make breathing any easier. Feeling like there was a weight on his chest Neal pulled at the collar a few more times in a hopeless effort to loosen it.

"Want to take that off?" Peter asked. "I can get you a clean one that has a looser neck."

"That would probably be best."

Neal sat back up and pulled off the black shirt while Peter hunted down a replacement. Finding a drawer of white under shirts in the walk in closet Peter picked one out. Lifting the shirt Peter took the neck with both hands and stretched it out causing the fabric to protest. Walking back out to the living room Peter stopped short as he caught sight of Neal's scar across the back of his shoulder. Just like Mozzie he had never seen the healed wound. However unlike Mozzie Peter had seen the injury when it was fresh.

More concerned with the exit than the entry the paramedics had quickly turned Neal over onto his side and cut away his shirt so that they could clamp off the major veins that has been severed by the bullet's path. The tattered flesh, exposed bone fragments and ocean of blood that ran down Neal's shoulder was an image that still haunted Peter. At the time Jones had to help ease Peter to the ground as his knees had gone weak from the sight. Peter was grateful to Jones for never having mentioned Peter's brush with shock. Looking at the star patterned scar now it was hard to imagine that the doctor had managed to do such a good job mending the damage.

"Peter?" Neal asked in concern at the way Peter was just staring at him.

"Nothing." Peter said as he tried to shrug off the gory memory. "Here."

Taking the shirt Neal briefly noticed the ruined neckline, but he didn't comment on it. Pulling on the shirt Neal growled in pain as his whole body along with his shoulder protested the motion. It felt good to have a clean shirt on, but it was already becoming stained with the sweat that dripped off his skin. Neal laid back down even though he knew he wouldn't be able to stay down for long.

Peter came back around and sat on the coffee table. Neal's breathing was becoming increasingly shallow as he tried to settle into a comfortable position and failed. Quickly giving up Neal went to sit up, however Peter put his hand on his chest to keep him down. Peter didn't actually apply any pressure, it was more a suggestion that Neal give laying down more of a chance. When Neal relaxed and laid back Peter took Neal's hand and pulled it towards himself. Neal was about to protest when Peter used his thumbs to massages small circles into Neal's palm. The simple contact was remarkably effective and Neal slowly managed to relax.

"That is surprisingly relaxing."

"El and I do this for each other when one of us is sick."

Neal smiled, he had to admit to himself that he was envious of what Peter and Elizabeth had found together. With his most recent relationship ending in deceit Neal was starting to lose count of how many of his relationships had ended just as he was starting to settle into the idea that he'd found someone he share the rest of his life with. After Kate, Alex, Sarah, and now Rebecca he wasn't certain that he even wanted to try again. Even his father had vanished as soon as the relationship they had was no longer beneficial to himself.

Closing his eyes Neal tried to put past heartbreak out of his mind and just concentrated on the fact that he had at least found one person who didn't give up on him easily. Peter continued the gentle massage until he noticed that Neal's breathing had slowed down significantly. Pressing his index finger against Neal's wrist Peter spent a minute counting out his pulse. It was certainly higher than it should be for someone who was sleeping, but it wasn't racing dangerously. Tucking Neal's arm against his side Peter stood up and stretched out his back. There was a light throw blanked draped over the back of the couch that Peter pulled down and covered Neal with.

Peter could let Neal sleep for the next three hours, but then he would have to wake him in order to take more of the percocet in order to slowly remove it from his system. With any luck Neal would manage to sleep through the worst of the withdrawal. Knowing he wasn't going to be able to get any sleep himself tonight Peter headed off into the kitchen and made some coffee. Bringing a mug of black coffee back with him Peter checked Neal's temperature with his hand before settling into the love seat. Sipping at the hot coffee Peter watched the rise and fall of Neal's chest to make sure he kept breathing as he slept.

"What am I going to do with you?" Peter sighed to himself.

Over the next few hours Peter slowly made his way through the pot of coffee. A few times Neal had started to struggle for breath and jerk in his sleep, but it never took more than a light touch to the side of his face to calm him back down again. Looking down at his watch Peter knew he had to wake Neal. Even in his sleep Neal was starting to grind his teeth and whimper as the real world pains invaded his dreams.

Peter was starting to fear that they had already missed the window to step Neal down slowly from the drugs. He went over to his jacket and pulled out the prescription bottle that he'd gotten from the pharmacist and shook out three of the pills before refreshing the glass of water that Neal had barely touched. Sitting down on the coffee table again Peter put his hand on Neal's arm to try and wake him gently. Neal remained locked in sleep but he became more restless when touched this time.

"Neal...Neal, I'm sorry, you need to wake up."

Neal jolted awake with a cry of panic as he was suddenly assaulted by the effects of the withdrawal. Scrambling to sit up he curled his knees up to his chest and cried out again this time in pain rather than fear. Peter gave him a moment to adjust to being awake before intervening. When it became clear that Neal wasn't going to adjust by himself Peter guided him to put his feet on floor rather than remain in the near fetal position. Neal had his bowed and his eyes weld shut so Peter carded his hand into Neal's hair to get him to bring his head up to look at him. Neal tilted his head back but kept his eyes shut and held his breath as though he feared drowning.

"Breathe." Peter reminded Neal calmly.

"Peter?" Neal asked finally opening his eyes.

"That's right. You're okay, almost through the worst of it."

"No, no. I can't do this."

"You're doing just fine."

"I'm really not..."

Peter regretted letting Neal sleep so long, the effects of the withdrawal had just gotten stronger while he was unconscious making them harder for him to deal with now. Drawing shuddering breaths Neal looked ready to pass out. Peter gave his free hand to Neal and he gripped it tight. Leaning forward Peter rested his forehead against Neal's and gave him a chance to lean against him for a moment. Neal accepted the support and finally began to work on calming himself, which he managed to do relatively well. When he felt Neal relax Peter pulled his hand out of Neal's hair and sat back. Neal released Peter's hand and sat back with his eyes half open.

"Better?"

Neal just nodded.

"You need to take these."

Peter picked up the three pills off the coffee table and offered them to Neal. Neal took them and before Peter could offer him the water he crunched down on them. Peter had turned to see where the glass of water was when he heard Neal's teeth grind down on the drugs. He turned back to tell Neal to spit them out when he discovered that Neal hadn't done it intentionally. With his every muscle suddenly taunt Neal had just gone into classic tonic seizure.

Before the second and more violent clonic phase of the seizure could begin Peter jumped to his feet and kicked the coffee table back to make sure that it was out of the way so that Neal couldn't injure himself against it if he fell off the couch. Peter flipped Neal's legs up onto the couch to put him on his back as he went into a full bodied violent jerking. Peter knew not to try and hold Neal down since it would only increase his chances of injuring himself, however he did kneel down next to him and put his hands on Neal's side to try and keep him from falling off the couch. Peter watched helplessly as Neal thrashed uncontrollably with his eyes rolled back to white. Neal's body fought with itself as opposing muscle groups tore at the same joints causing the spastic alternating motions that came along with having a seziure.

"Neal, hang on, it will be over soon..."

Peter said the words more to assure himself rather than Neal knowing that his friend couldn't hear him. Although the seizure ended quickly Neal was left barely breathing. As soon as Peter felt it was safe he jumped to his feet and raced over to his jacket to retrieve his cell phone. Bringing the phone back over to Neal he put his hand on his throat to check his pulse as he dialed with the other hand. Peter found his hand too shaky to determine if Neal's pulse was strong or not.

"9-1-1, what is your emergency?"

"I need an ambulance to..."

Peter rambled off the address and instructions on how to get up to the apartment side of June's house. Hanging up on the operator despite her asking him to stay on the line Peter switched his attention back to Neal who was still having difficulty recovering from the violent seizure. Peter did his best to keep both Neal and himself calm but when Neal relaxed completely he knew another seizure wasn't far off. Just as Peter feared Neal tensed once more before degrading into another frightening fit of convulsions.

Even though the seizures only last a few minuets each it felt like hours had passed. However despite Peter's distorted time perception he was still surprised at the speed with which paramedics arrived as he heard them charging up the stairs. Neal had only been still for a moment when they banged on the door.

"Emergency services!" The EMT at the door announced.

"It's unlocked!" Peter called back to them.

Three EMTs poured through the door and into the small apartment. With professional speed they assessed the situation. The leader of the team came around the couch and knelt down next to Peter and started to take some basic vital signs. The two remaining EMTs started preparing the stretcher they had brought along since it was instantly clear that it would be needed.

"What happened?"

"Seizures from percocet withdrawal."

"How many?"

"Two in rapid succession."

"Does he have any major allergies or conditions?"

"None."

"Any other drug use?"

"Possibly mephedrone last night, but that would have been the first time."

"Anything else I should know?"

"I don't think so."

The EMT finished his quick fire questions and peeled back one of Neal's eyelids to reveal his pupil that was constricted into a pinpoint.

"He's tanking, let's pack him up." The EMT ordered the others to come closer.

"What can I..." Peter started.

"Just stand back and let us do our job. We are going to help him."

Feeling a little shell shocked Peter nodded and stepped back. The team efficiently got Neal off the couch and onto the stretcher and quickly secured. Peter found himself holding his breath, worrying that at any moment Neal might seize again. However Neal simply remained unresponsive.

Peter followed them down the stairs and out to the waiting ambulance where the driver had the engine still running. After sliding Neal into the back two of the EMTs jumped up into the ambulance with him and started on getting an IV line in. Peter automatically went to climb up into the ambulance as well, however the lead EMT stopped him.

"I'm sorry, Agent, you can't come with us."

The EMT pushed on Peter's chest with a surprising amount of force causing him to stumble a few steps back. The EMT quickly closed and secured the back ambulance doors and jogged around to the passenger side and jumped in.

"Wait!" Peter called out. "What hospital are you going to? Where are you taking him?!"

The EMT didn't reply, he simply closed the door and with a cacophony of sound and flashing lights the ambulance tore off down the once peaceful street. It didn't take more than a few seconds for the sirens to blend into the usual buzz that always hung over the city. Standing alone in the street Peter began to recover from the chaos of the moment. Thinking back on everything that had just happened Peter furrowed his brow at the EMT's last words to him.

"How did he know I was an Agent?"


	21. Chapter 21

NOTE: I can't sleep and I personally blame all of you, at the very least I blame this story. ;)

Chapter Twenty-one

Neal woke to a powerful headache that made him hesitant to open his eyes. Quickly noticing that every muscle ached as though he'd just run an all uphill marathon made Neal even less enthused to be awake. Since his last clear memory was laying on the couch in his apartment Neal automatically assumed he was still home. It wasn't until he took a deep breath and brought an odd astringent scent to his senses that he realized something was wrong. Opening his eyes Neal stared up at a white drop tile ceiling. Too confused to be frightened Neal just turned his head to the side only to have his view obstructed by a metal bedrail.

"Peter?" Neal called out in a hoarse voice.

"Good morning."

Adrenaline poured into Neal's blood at the sound of the stranger's voice. An older man with graying hair and glasses came into view as he stepped up next the bed and looked down on Neal with a friendly smile. He wore a white lab coat over a well starched shirt with a deep blue silk tie along with a gold name tag that Neal was too panicked to try and read. Trying to sit up Neal discovered his could only move his arms about six inches before something soft but strong pulled tight against his wrists. Unable to free his wrists he pulled at his ankles and found them similarly pinned down.

"Peter!" Neal cried desperately.

"Easy now. Relax Mr. Caffrey, you're okay. No one is here to hurt you. You're at the hos..."

"Stay away from me!" Neal demanded as he tugged harder at the restraints. "Let me go!"

"The ties are just a safety precaution. You were quite violent last night."

"What?"

"You're in the hospital. I'm Dr. Harris. You had a series of seizures, five in total."

"I...I don't remember." Neal panted as his heart pounded harder.

"It's okay, totally normal." The doctor looked up at the near by heart monitor with concern. "I know this is frightening for you, but you're safe."

"Then let me go!"

"I need you to calm down first."

Neal had no chance of calming down in the unfamiliar setting with the stranger standing over him. Still fighting the restraints he weld his eyes shut and pushed his head back into the pillow in hopes that he was just having a violent hallucination and that it would go away. When he opened his eyes again the doctor was slipping a needle into the access port on the IV line that was dripping saline into Neal's blood.

"What are you doing? What is that?" Neal asked as he yanked at the restraints uselessly. "Stop! Peter! Anyone! Help me!"

"Just a mild sedative."

"No!"

Not taking his patient's protest into consideration the doctor pushed the drug into the line. Neal twisted as best he could to try and pull out the IV that was in his arm, but it was well taped in place. Whatever he'd been given acted fast, but it wasn't particularly strong. It did manage to take the edge off his panic and cleared his thoughts somewhat. The doctor brought the head of the hospital bed up so that Neal wouldn't feel as vulnerable as when he was laying flat on his back. The doctor pulled over a chair to the bedside and sat down to bring himself more to Neal's eye level.

"Better?" Harris asked.

"Where's Peter?" Neal asked still fighting his confusion. "A...Agent Burke. Please..."

"He's getting some rest, it was a long night for him as well."

"I didn't hurt him did I?" Neal asked concerned.

"You didn't hurt anyone, the restraints were mostly to keep you from hurting yourself."

"Can you take them off now?"

"Not just yet, I want to talk to you about your case first."

"My case? I'm here because my percocet withdrawal didn't go well. What is there to talk about?"

"That's what brought you to the hospital, but it's not the root of you problems." Doctor Harris said gently. "I've read your file, the gun shot, the neurological and pain symptoms that have gotten progressively worse and yet still come and go. It doesn't look like anyone's really been listening to you about that."

"Not really." Neal admitted.

"Not a surprise." The doctor sighed. "Even if you weren't a criminal it would take a specialist or a particularly attentive doctor to diagnose you. Zebras can be such a pain in the ass for us doctors."

"Zebras?" Neal asked sharply reminded of Mozzie.

"Hear hoofbeats, think horses not zebras. They teach us that in Med school because often times young doctors really want to have unusual cases when most of the time it really is just something common. But the lesson includes zebras and not unicorns because zebras do exist." Harris explained. "I want to try something."

Neal tensed as the doctor stood up and leaned over him. The doctor pressed his fingertips into the front of Neal's shoulder causing him to cry out in sharp pain. The doctor pulled away quickly and sat back down.

"I'm sorry I had to hurt you." Harris said sincerely. "However, I believe it's actually your right shoulder that was injured, correct?"

Neal's blood flashed to ice as he realized that the doctor had just pressed into the wrong shoulder, and yet he had just felt the same pain that had haunted him for months lance through his left shoulder at the doctor's light touch.

"Part of the reason why I wanted you stressed when you woke was help me tease out some of your symptoms."

"I don't understand..."

"Mr Caffrey, you have rare presentation of conversion disorder mixed with somatic pain disorder."

"What?"

"At one point it was simply called 'hysteria'."

"Hysteria?" Neal repeated still having trouble thinking straight.

"From the Greek 'hystera' meaning uterus, since it was first believed to only be a condition found in women." Harris continued in a conversational tone. "In the mid 1800's the treatment for hysteria was for the physician to bring their patient to orgasm."

"Stay away from me." Neal ordered as he looked around desperately for an exit even if he couldn't get to it. "Is there someone else here I can talk to? Anyone else?"

"Don't worry Mr. Caffery," the doctor chuckled "I'm not going to molest you."

"And I appreciate that," Neal said seriously "I'd still like to see a different doctor, or better yet I'd rather just leave."

Neal jerked away from Harris as best he could as the doctor got to his feet again. Harris walked down to the end of the bed and pulled back the sheets. He undid the strong velcro that was keeping the nylon and lambskin restraints around Neal's ankles. Neal automatically drew his feet away. Coming back to the head of the bed the doctor pulled the IV line out of Neal's arm, ignoring the small amount of blood that welled up. Neal watched Harris warily as he undid the restraint around his right wrist. Neal quickly reached over and pulled the last restraint off himself before he scrambled out of the far side of the bed to put some distance between himself and Harris. The older man stepped to the side so that Neal had a clear view of the door.

"You can go, but leave now and you may never live pain free again. Nothing ruins a person faster than relentless pain, particularly if they don't understand it. I can help you understand it, I promise you that."

"You believe me?" Neal asked distrustfully. "Why?"

"Because I've seen men like you before. I specialize in warriors with PTSD, your condition is similar."

"My 'hysteria'?" Neal asked doubtfully.

"I'm sorry I told you that bit. Conversion disorder is very real, it is when an emotional crisis converts to a physical problem, in your case it's the spasms and numbness in your arm. Other cases people may be blind even though there is nothing wrong with their sight. Paralysis, abnormal movement, even seizures are common. In fact I'm convinced that your seizure activity last night was not a result of the percocet withdrawal. Although you had been taking enough for some nasty withdrawal effects you weren't on nearly enough percocet for long enough to cause to you to seize that violently from withdrawal alone. Your case is complicated by the somatic pain disorder which similar in that psychological stress manifests itself in a debilitating sourceless pain. It is a very similar mechanism."

"So it is all in my head." Neal said bitterly.

"Technically all pain is in the mind. In your case you have no more mental control over the pain and neurological symptoms than a diabetic has conscious control over their blood sugar. The conditions behind your injury are complicated: betrayal, loss, fear. Plus it wasn't the first time you'd experienced a crisis or been abandoned by someone you thought you could trust. All of that makes you extremely susceptible to an otherwise rare disorder."

Still standing on the far side of the bed Neal just stared at the doctor. Feeling light headed he wasn't sure if he trusted himself to understand what he was being told. Harris had said his peace and waited for Neal to make a decision about it.

"What do I do?"

"Just knowing that you're not crazy will help." The doctor assured. "However what you really need to do is find someone you trust and talk to them about the root cause. You will never fix this on your own."

Harris turned and walked over to the counter that was along the far side of the room. He picked up a file folder that had Neal's name on the tab. The doctor walked back over and tossed the thick file down on the bed. Neal leaned forward just enough to reach out and open the file. A brief skim of the first page revealed it to be a detailed description of conversion disorder. Neal assumed the rest of it held information about both disorders that the doctor had described. Neal looked up at Harris who was looking at Neal as if he was a feral dog that he had finally made a connection with.

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Good luck, Caffrey."

The doctor bowed his head slightly at Neal before he turned and left, closing the door behind him. Releasing a breath that he hadn't even realized that he'd been holding Neal suddenly felt weak in the knees. Sitting on the edge of the hospital bed Neal put the file down next to him and took a moment to recover. He began to idly play with the plastic hospital ID band that was around his wrist. Taking a closer look at it he learned he was at New York-Presbyterian Hospital, which was a good distance south of June's place, certainly not the closest ER. He also noticed that next to 'Date of Birth' there was just a series of questions marks as place holders, which was odd considering how much the doctor had known about him. Turning the bracelet to the other side Neal read the bold name that identified him to the hospital staff.

"John Doe..."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter Twenty-two

"Mozzie!"

Peter had barked Mozzie's name in exactly the same tone he used when he scolded Satchmo when the dog got into the trash. In fact the yellow lab had come to the door to greet his master but quickly tucked his tail and slunk off into the kitchen. Mozzie looked up from the DVD player that he was dismantling. The front living room had been systematically ransacked with every hollow object opened and inspected to some degree with the electronics in the room suffering the greatest damage.

"What are you doing?" Peter demanded.

"Exactly what you asked me to do. Looking for bugs."

"Don't you have scanners for this sort of thing? Something that doesn't require tearing my living room apart?"

"Those only work if the bug is actively giving off a wireless frequency. If these guys are good, and so far they have proven that they are, they will be watching 24/7 and shut down any transmission when someone starts to hunt for it. Gotta do a full manual sweep to be sure. Haven't found anything yet, but if it's here I will."

Peter took a breath to rein in his temper. It didn't really matter right now, he just hadn't been expecting to step into such a mess. After Neal had been taken by the ambulance Peter had dashed back into the apartment to get his car keys. The ambulance was out of sight even before he went to get the keys, but he had hoped that they would head for the closest ER. Getting to the car it hadn't started and he'd needed to call emergency road service to jump the dead battery.

During the hour wait for the car service Peter had called 911 dispatch to see if he could trace the ambulance only to be told that there was nothing recorded of his previous call. It was standard procedure that every call to 911 be recorded and logged. Increasingly concerned about the legitimacy of the EMTs that had taken Neal Peter had continued to follow the only lead he had and that was the idea that Neal had been taken to a hospital somewhere.

Calling ER's was slightly problematic since he was not a direct family member and very few staff bought the 'Federal Agent' angle over the phone. Even once he had gotten his car running and driven to three of the ten local hospitals it was a slow process to get information about recent admits due to HIPPA privacy laws. Since he was going to be in his own neighborhood to get to the next hospital Peter decided it was worth the time to stop by and get his badge and gun. Being off duty he hadn't brought either with him to Neal's. The badge would get him the kind of cooperation from staff that he was looking for and make checking the hospitals go quicker. Slipping on his shoulder harness he threw his jacket back on over it and tucked his badge in the breast pocket before heading back downstairs. Mozzie was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs looking worried.

"Why are you here anyway? You're supposed to be with Neal."

"I'm working on it. Just...put my living room back together again when you're done."

"Is everything okay?"

"Just keep looking."

Mozzie gave Peter a distrustful look but he returned to the pile of parts that he'd been combing through. Peter knew that Mozzie had a right to know that Neal was probably in trouble, but right now that was just one more distraction that Peter didn't want to deal with. Getting back in his car Peter brought up the Nav system and had it direct him to the next hospital.

After checking three more hospitals Peter was starting to truly fear that Neal had been abducted rather than rescued when the EMTs had arrived. Peter was about to give in and call Diana and Jones to bring them up to date on everything that had happened in order to launch a proper investigation when he saw that he was only a mile from the next hospital on the list. Being so far south Peter felt that there was a low probability that Neal would have been taken to New York Presbyterian, but he decided to give it a shot.

Parking outside ER Peter glanced at his watch as he got out of the car. Neal had been missing for nearly five hours and it was getting close to 1 am. Exhausted Peter stepped into the ER, which was surprisingly busy. Peter grabbed the attention of one of the nurses who was busy with triage by flashing his badge at her. She looked annoyed but she stopped.

"How can I help you, Agent?"

"I need to know if Neal Caffrey was brought in here tonight, about five hours ago."

"That's before my shift started, I don't recall the name from change of shift report but he could have come and gone or been transferred to the floor. We can check the computer census."

"Please."

The nurse nodded and headed over to the front desk to ask the receptionist.

"No 'Neal Caffrey'." The receptionist said as she kept typing. "We did get a 'John Doe' a few hours back."

"John Doe?" Peter asked alarmed.

"That doesn't mean he's dead," the nurse assured "it just means we don't know his name."

"He was unresponsive." Peter said.

"This is weird though." The receptionist said as she clicked on a few more screens. "He was assigned to a room over on East, bed 7."

"East?" The nurse asked. "We use East as over flow, we are busy but not that busy, are there any other patients over there?"

"None. Just John Doe, he was seen by Dr Maloy in exam room 2 who pronounced him stable but unconscious before he was transferred to East 7. The last order I have for him is for IV fluids, but that was hours ago when he was still here in ER."

"Is there a physical description in the chart?" Peter asked.

"Doctor's notes describe him as a white male in his 30's, presenting with seizure."

"Take me there now." Peter ordered.

The RN was already taking steps towards the double doors that lead to the inner workings of the ER. Peter followed her closely as they moved at a quick pace through the confusing hallways. The 'East' area was tucked a bit out of the way an deathly quite compared to the areas that held an active case load. Stepping in to room 7 they found it empty, but with obvious signs that someone had been there. Peter stepped up to the unmade bed and inspected one of the nylon restraints that was still tied to the bed frame. He knew handcuffs were practically useless on Neal, but the velcro would present a totally different challenge.

"What are the odds that someone could get out of these on their own?" Peter asked the nurse.

"None if they were placed right. However, this makes no sense. We use physical restraints as an absolute last resort, and then they require a doctor's order that needs to be updated on an hourly basis. Plus we would never leave a restrained patient alone, they would have a staff member with them at all times. Hospital policy and state law are very strict on restraint."

"Someone held him down." Peter growled. He put his palm down on the center of the bed to test it. "This is still warm, he was just here..."

Peter jolted as an alarm went off overhead.

"What is that?"

"Someone tripped the alarm on the back emergency exit."

"Which way?"

"Down the hall, to the left, then right."

Peter rushed out of the room and ran down the abandoned hall. Taking the left at the end he raced towards the exit sign in the ceiling at the end that pointed to the right. He didn't slow down until he reached the door. Stopping for a moment he drew his weapon before shoving the emergency door open with his shoulder. Stepping out into the back alley behind the hospital he quickly swept both directions to ensure that it was clear.

There didn't appear to be anyone in the dark ally at first glance. The alarm was still ringing which added an unwanted distraction. Still on high alert with his weapon raised Peter slowly walked towards the large dumpster that was pushed up against the back of the hospital. Taking a wide angle Peter moved to clear the far side of the dumpster. Neal was crouched down with his back against the end of the dumpster wearing a pair of white scrubs with a blue file clutched to his chest. Neal looked up at Peter with his eyes wide in fear, frozen like a deer in headlights. Peter instantly dropped his aim and flicked the safety back on before holstering his weapon.

"Peter?"

"Damn it, Neal, what are you doing hiding back here?"

"That's fairly self explanatory...I'm hiding."

"Are you alright?" Peter offered Neal his hand to help him stand.

"I honestly don't know." Neal replied as Peter helped him up. "I think I was kidnapped."

"No, you were brought to the hospital."

"Right, but..."

Neal stopped and ducked down as he pressed his back against the metal dumpster again as the emergency exit door opened. Two of the hospital security guards stepped out and looked at Peter who hadn't dove to cover the way Neal had. Peter reached into his jacket and held his badge up for the guards.

"It's okay, false alarm." Peter assured.

"Do you want to come back inside before we reset the door?"

"No, I'll walk around."

"Ask them if a Dr. Harris works here." Neal requested in a hushed tone.

"What?"

"Harris, Dr. Harris." Neal hissed urgently.

"Is there a Dr. Harris that works here?" Peter asked the guards before they could step back inside.

"No, Sir."

"Thank you."

"I was afraid of that." Neal muttered.

"Neal, what is going on?"

"Our mystery 'enemy' just gave me better medical care than I've received in months."


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-three

It was two o'clock in the morning by the time Neal talked Peter into taking him home rather than to a different ER. Neal sat at his kitchen table pouring over the information in the file that he'd been given by Harris. So far what he was reading was not overly encouraging. There were no formal clinical trials for the treatment of conversion disorder and the informal reports contained multiple references to the fact that the disorder posed a serious challenge to both psychiatrists and neurologists. A vast majority of case-studies involved women with a history of childhood sexual abuse, neither one of which applied to him.

Neal was frustrated by the fact that the more he read the more his shoulder bothered him. He had hoped that just understanding what was happening was going to help it go away. He remembered Harris telling him that he'd never fix this on his own and that he needed to find someone he trusted to talk to. He looked over at Peter who was getting a glass of water, but he had no idea what to say to him that he hadn't said already. Feeling sick to his stomach Neal pushed the file away as Peter came over and offered him the water before opening the bottle of percocet.

"Here." Peter offered as he shook out three pills.

"What? No..."

"You're not through this withdrawal yet Neal, it is going to take several days to wean you off these."

"No, I'm okay."

"Really? You should see the dark circles under you eyes, it looks like someone with a grudge punched you in the face. You're still wincing every time you move, and I can hear you panting. Please, Neal, I do not want to deal with any more seizures tonight."

"Dr. Harris said I haven't been on the percocet long enough for the withdrawal to be the cause of my seizures, he thinks it's just another symptom of the conversion disorder."

"So we are trusting that the man who: broke into a hospital, tied you to a bed, drugged you against your will, and then told you that you were hysterical...was an actual medical professional?"

"I hadn't thought of that." Neal admitted. "He had excellent bedside manner."

"Neal..."

"Alright, fine."

Neal conceded and took the pills from Peter. Not very trusting Peter watched Neal take the medication carefully, keeping an eye out for any sleight of hand tricks. Neal was too tired, and when he was honest with himself, in too much pain to pull off any quick moves at the moment. Take the pills Neal washed them down with some of the water.

"Bed." Peter ordered, looking like he was about to drop himself.

Neal sighed, he was tired but he didn't really want to sleep. However, knowing that arguing with a sleep deprived Peter was a bad idea Neal got up from the table and went to lay down. Not bothering with changing out of the hospital scrubs he was still wearing Neal walked over and laid down on the bed on top of the sheets. He furrowed his brow as Peter crawled in on the other side. Ignoring the look he was getting Peter shoved Neal over onto his side and laid down against him on his back.

"What are you doing?" Neal asked.

"I'm not sleeping on your couch."

"Then I guess I will." Neal sighed as he went to sit up.

"No." Peter put his arm out briefly to keep Neal down. "I need you close enough to wake me up if you go into another seizure."

"Fine." Neal sighed.

Forced on his side by being crowed by Peter Neal tried to move his friend who was already almost asleep.

"Peter, move over."

"No."

"I sleep on my back." Neal complained.

"Not tonight you don't." Peter said firmly. "I am not having you vomiting in your sleep and drowning in it. Sleep on your side."

"They let sleep on my back at the hospital." Neal grumbled after a few minutes of trying to get comfortable on his side without much success.

"They also used restraints to keep you from wiggling around."

"So?"

"So don't tempt me to do the same." Peter muttered sleepily.

"Kinky." Neal teased.

"Shut up. Sleep."

Both men managed to stay quiet for about ten seconds before they were forced to laugh.

"You pictured it, didn't you?" Neal chuckled.

"I did." Peter admitted.

"Disturbing."

"Good night, Neal."

"Good night."

Neal wasn't convinced that he was going to be able to sleep like this, but once he closed his eyes he was out quickly. It was only five in the morning when Neal woke in a cold sweat with a powerful sensation of nausea. Grinding his teeth Neal carefully crawled out of bed. Going into the bathroom Neal closed the door and turned on the faucet to add some white noise to try and cover up the sound of him being sick again. After losing what little was in his stomach Neal sat on the tile floor and leaned against the bathtub with his eyes closed.

"Ugh..." Neal moaned "I hate it when Peter's right."

Pulling off the scrubs that the hospital had put him in Neal turned the shower on to near scalding. Crawling into the shower went a long way towards making Neal feel human again. Sitting on the bottom of the tub he spent a while just letting the warm water rain down on him. Getting out he dried off and changed into a pair of black slacks and white button down shirt since he had no plans of going back to bed despite the early hour.

Peter always claimed to be a light sleeper, but when Neal headed back out into the main room he was still snoring softly. Rooting through the kitchen quietly Neal grabbed a few pieces of bread to munch on in hopes of keeping his stomach settled. Going over to the corner Neal dug through his art supplies and grabbed a tablet of blank paper and a pencil.

There was enough ambient light from the moon and the city lights that Neal didn't need to turn on any lights and risk disturbing Peter. Taking a deep breath Neal put the pencil tip to the page and started to sketch out Harris. He wasn't sure if the sketch would be useful at all, but he wanted to get it down while the man's features were still fresh in his mind just in case. He roughly penciled in the man's light blue eyes and wrote 'blue' next to the gray scale sketch before drawing the glasses that the doctor had worn. As the drawing of the older man came to life it didn't have the natural feel of Neal's usual work, but it would be good enough for an ID.

Working on the edge of the mouth Neal's hand suddenly jerked and not only dragged a dark line across the drawing but also tore into the paper. Frustrated Neal gripped the pencil harder and ended up snapping it in half. Putting down the tablet with the damaged drawing on it Neal massaged his palm to try and keep his fingers from curling in.

There was a knock at the front door so light that Neal wasn't sure if he had heard it or not. Holding his breath Neal waited for the sound to repeat itself, which it did. Getting to his feet Neal walked over and opened the door just enough to see who it was. Mozzie was standing in the hall looking nervous. Neal opened the door the rest of the way although he didn't step to the side to invite Mozzie in.

"Nea..."

Neal reached out and put his hand over Mozzie's mouth to silence him before pushing him back out into the hall. Neal stepped out of the apartment and carefully closed the door behind him. He motioned for Mozzie to head down to the bottom of the stairs so that they wouldn't wake Peter.

"Rough night?" Mozzie asked sympathetically.

"Certainly more adventurous than we were expecting."

Neal filled Mozzie in on everything that had happened. Mozzie was indignant at the fact that Peter hadn't told him what was going on, but he wasn't surprised.

"Classic, Suit." Mozzie huffed.

"Peter just didn't want you to worry. Did you find something at his house?"

"I did. Neal...it's not good."

Mozzie fished into his pocket and brought out a small cylindrical device with three cut wires hanging off one end. Neal took the device and looked it over. It was a little bigger around than a pen and about half as long as one. The tip had a silver dome on it about a quarter of an inch in diameter. He'd never seen anything quite like it.

"I found that mounted into the rim of one of the recess lights in Peter's living room. The silver tip is a one way mirror that made it look less noticeable since it blended in with the silver lip around the light fixture."

"This is a camera?"

"Video and audio. It was hardwired not only into the electrics, so no battery, but also directly into modem cable. A wireless scanner would never pick it up because it's not wireless, it was sending its info right over the house's hard line."

"This isn't something that you just pick up at Radio Shack."

"Neal, this isn't something that you pick up anywhere. This is 'bleeding edge' technology. Like high end, hush-hush, military grade or super spy stuff."

"Spy?" Neal looked more closely at the device. "Like MI5?"

"MI5? You don't think Rebecca..."

"Mozzie, she was gathering way too much intelligence to just be running a con on me. She wasn't just doing surveillance on me, but on everyone around me. She had a wall of file cabinets full of information, with files on everyone, including things like mine and Peter's routines and movements. She was tracking every detail of our lives, right down to Elizabeth's shopping habits. What did any of that have to do with the Codex and the diamond?"

"She was obsessively thorough?"

"It would make a lot more sense that she was working for someone else and then went rouge on them when she..."

"Fell in love with you?" Mozzie finished when Neal didn't.

"Yeah." Neal sighed.

"But they already got what they wanted, you figured out the Codex and got the diamond."

"What if the end game was bigger than just the diamond? What if they are trying to salvage the original plan?"

"Which would be what?"

"I have no idea, but whatever it is I'm not going to play their game." Neal growled darkly as he handed the camera back to Mozzie.

"Neal...so far it seems like you've done exactly what they have wanted every step of the way. In a game of 'know thy enemy' they may have a literal filing cabinet worth of information on you and you have nothing on them."

"Thanks for the support." Neal said dryly.

"I'm just pointing out the facts, this might not be a fight you can win."

"I have to at least try."

"You really don't."

"What?"

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I think the best thing you can do right now is run. We can have you in Europe within twenty-four hours."

"No, I'm not running." Neal said firmly. "Even if I manage to escape the country they would just go after Peter to drag me back. I'm not going to cower on the other side of the Atlantic and just pray that they don't take it out on everyone I leave behind."

"So what are you going to do?"

Neal didn't have a good answer right away. As he thought over the new information and what had happened already he could feel the percocet wearing off as it felt like someone was driving a white hot knife through his shoulder. Holding his arm against his chest Neal tried to concentrate.

"Neal?"

"Clearly they need me alive." Neal reasoned. "I can drag them out of the shadows by forcing them to protect me."

"Protect you? As in trying to get yourself killed?"

"Right."

"And if they can't or they just don't save you?"

"They will. I'm willing to bet my life on it."

"Peter is never going to go for this."

"I know...which is why I can't tell him."

Mozzie went silent for a moment as he studied his friend. Noticing the look he was getting Neal tried to do a better job of hiding the pain he was in. He tried his best to remind himself that the pain was mental, but just like a stomach ache from stage fright there was no amount of telling himself that everything was okay that was going to help.

"Moz..."

"Neal, can I point something out?" Mozzie interrupted. "And trust me when I tell you that it *pains* me to say this, particularly since this is the second time I've had to give you this advice within a week and it's something I never thought I'd ever say."

"Just spit it out."

"If they know you as well as you think they do then not telling Peter what you're up to is precisely the kind of mistake that they will be expecting you to make. If you want to outsmart them you need to break your old habits. Being on Peter's side and working behind his back at the same time isn't going to work here. You can't walk down the middle of the street anymore, you need to doge left or right. Tell him or run."

"All or nothing?"

"Exactly."


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter twenty-four

"Come on, Neal, you have got to trust me..."

Standing inside the apartment door that he had slightly open so that he could eavesdrop on Neal and Mozzie the irony of Peter's statement was not lost on him. However at the moment Peter felt that spying was his best move. He had woken the instant that Neal had crawled out of bed, but he had pretended to remain asleep to allow Neal at least a small amount of privacy after the rough night. When Mozzie arrived and Neal left Peter took up his post by the door to make sure that Neal didn't have any crazy plans, which of course he did.

Peter was shocked when Mozzie turned out to be a voice of reason and for a moment Peter was certain that he had simply misheard Neal's strange friend. Neal had fallen silent and Peter had a feeling that the conversation was over even though Neal hadn't seemed to have chosen his next move, or at least he wasn't sharing it with Mozzie. Not wanting to get caught listening Peter carefully closed the door and got back into bed to continue his opossum act.

Neal stepped back into the apartment as quietly as a teenage trying not to get caught for coming home way past curfew. Sitting down at the kitchen table he sighed heavily. Peter took the opportunity to act as though the sound had been woken from a deep sleep. Sitting up Peter looked around acting slightly disoriented.

"Morning, Peter." Neal greeted warmly.

"Morning, Neal. How are you feeling?"

"A little dizzy." Neal admitted. "But other than that I think the worst of the withdrawal is over."

Peter got up out of bed and joined Neal at the table. He didn't say anything, testing to see if Neal would offer any information himself. Neal was shaking out his hand the way he did when his shoulder was bothering him. Peter was just about to ask about it but Neal spoke first.

"Mozzie was just here."

"Really? How's my living room?"

"I didn't think to ask, but I'm fairly certain that you don't want to know."

"Great." Peter sighed.

"He found something."

Neal reached into his pocket and pulled out the small surveillance device. Peter had heard Neal and Mozzie talking about how small it was but he was still surprised when he actually saw it. Reaching out Peter took the cylindrical video camera and inspected it. It wasn't something he'd seen before, but keeping up with the various forms that technology came in these days was nearly impossible. There were almost monthly advances in publicly available tech let alone restricted and black market devices.

"Where was it?"

"In the ceiling in one of recess lights in the living room."

"How well did Mozzie tear your place apart?"

"He is fairly confident my apartment is clean, but just to be safe he's going to comb through again after he gets some sleep. I figured there was no harm in showing you this here even if someone is listening, they know by now that we have it."

"Agreed. Let's go for a walk anyway. Are you feeling up to it?"

"Fresh air sounds good."

Peter got up and picked up his shoulder holster off the back of the chair and slung it on before putting on his blazer. He chastised himself for being caught without his weapon the night before, he wasn't going to let that happen again. The events at the hospital proved that whoever was watching them had no fear of interacting with them directly. Elizabeth wasn't due back to New York for five more days, in the interest of her safety Peter was already planing on asking her to extend her stay in Washington even though so far the 'enemy' hadn't been particularly aggressive. It was the high level of organization that was being demonstrated that had Peter most concerned.

Walking in an uncharacteristically uncomfortable silence the pair made their way towards the near by park. Usually they could be quiet around one another without any trouble, but right now they both had far too much to say and no good way of saying it. Peter was starting to worry that Neal wasn't going to take Mozzie's advice and he was going to keep his scheme to himself. Peter wasn't willing to give Neal much more time before he confronted him about it. If he was forced to drag the truth out of Neal there would be no fixing the broken trust, he'd have to second guess Neal's every move and word from here on out.

The sun had risen about fifteen minutes ago and it was tinting the upscale neighborhood in a delicate reddish pink. Peter offhandedly remembered the old adage about red sky at morning sending out a warning to sailors and shepherds and wondered if it applied to him as well. They quickly made their way to a small park that was currently only populated by early morning runners. Neal and Peter sat down next to one another on one of the wooden benches and listened to the city slowly wake. Neal reached up and rubbed at his shoulder for a moment before slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Neal..."

"I want to be the one to do the Fisher meet." Neal interrupted.

"Any particular reason?"

"I..." Neal hesitated, after careful thought he continued. "I think it has the potential to be a dangerous situation, and if something does go wrong I want to see if whoever has been watching us steps in to intervene."

"Thank you for telling me the truth."

"Why wouldn't..." Neal paused and smiled. "You were listening to Mozzie and I this morning."

"Of course I was listening, how stupid do you think I am?"

"I've never thought you were stupid, I thought you were tired. You've tracked me down and caught me on several occasions, once from halfway across the world on nothing more than a sound in the background. That takes skill. You've always been a worthy opponent, Peter."

"I know you say that jokingly, but honestly I don't want to be your opponent any more."

"I know. No more secrets."

"I've heard you say those words before. Sometimes I truly believe that you can't help yourself when it comes to making bad decisions."

"There is certainly enough evidence to that effect." Neal admitted. "Since you heard everything what are your thoughts on my theory about Rebecca's involvement?"

"It sounds very plausible, I never understood all of her surveillance work. That was a large amount of tedious and seemingly unnecessary work. However if she was collecting it for someone else they certainly covered their tracks well. She didn't turned on them when she was arrested."

"Because she knew that they'd either help her escape prison or just kill her. She would know better than anyone how powerful her handlers were. And considering her behavior as time went on if she was working for someone else I have a feeling that they lost control of her."

"Then why not just kill her? They let her get caught, didn't seem to go after her once she was free."

"That's another part of the puzzle, and I think it's because we aren't dealing with killers."

"Tell that to Agent Siegel, or even Hagen for that matter." Peter growled darkly. "Rachel was a killer."

"Another reason to believe that she was out of their control. Maybe they didn't vet her well enough, she was extraordinarily crafty, she was also..."

"Psychotic." Peter finished.

"I was going to say 'a known traitor' and therefore one to have her own agenda, but I suppose psychotic fits as well. She was also perfect for her role with me so perhaps they just took the chance on her."

"None of this gets us any closer to any answers. It's just guess work." Peter sighed. "We don't even know what they want."

"All the more reason to let me do the Fisher sting."

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?"

"Because I know you're going to try and botch it in some deranged attempt to get our mystery men's attention."

"It's a good plan."

"No, it's an asinine idea that is highly likely to get you killed."

"You got a better plan?"

"I do." Peter replied. "Follow the paper trail."

"Paper trail?"

"I already started on it the moment the orders for your release came through, but I hadn't gotten far and things have gotten more complicated since then. Someone got you off your anklet, and it looks like it was specifically to free up your movements. We find that someone and we are a lot closer to figuring this all out."

"Who signed off on it?"

"It came straight from the top, the Director. Which has made tracking down the real origins harder since I can't just challenge the Director directly the way I might someone lower on the pecking order."

"Someone must have bribed or conned the Director." Neal reasoned.

"That was my first thought. Unless..." Peter trailed off.

"Unless what?"

Peter didn't reply he just furrowed his brow as he became lost in thought. Neal managed to follow the thread of Peter's unspoken realization.

"Peter...you're not thinking that this whole thing could be some sort of 'inside job' are you?"

"I'd rather not think that, but it has to be considered. Not necessarily within the FBI...the government is a big place, and there are men that even the Director of the FBI follows without question."

"Peter, you do realize that you're starting to sound like Mozzie, right?"

"Think about it. Let's just assume Rachel was hired by these people. The end game of her con was to get you to find the sister to the Hope Diamond, a very valuable stone."

"If this is about money why would the US government want it? There are easier ways to raise campaign money. In fact the stone ended up in government hands and it didn't disappear, it was gifted back to India. If someone with as much organization and supposed government ties as these people seem to have wanted it why didn't they arrange to get it once it was in government hands so they could sell it?"

"Because profits aren't always in the form of money. Perhaps the 'right' people got the stone after all. Returning one of 'The Eyes of Sita' diamonds to India did wonders for US-India relations."

"I thought we were already friends with India."

"Traditionally, yes, but lately there has been some serious strain, mostly over the US's handling of the Taliban and Isis. Goodwill in high places in India could buy the US a lot."

"Such as?"

"Access to the Pakistan border comes to mind."

"You think our mystery men are US military?" Neal asked surprised.

"I hope not. Because if they are Mozzie might just be more right than I'm willing to admit."

"What?"

"This might not be a fight we can win."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-five

"Let me come with you."

"No."

"Peter..."

"No. Stay in the van."

"I hate the van, it's so dull." Neal sighed. "No offense, Jones, Diana."

"None taken." Jones shrugged as he did some fine tuning on the surveillance equipment.

"Some taken." Diana added.

"You're staying here or I'm having someone escort you back to the office."

"Fine. Good luck explaining the finer points of the Kandinsky to Fisher."

Peter looked over at the large thin case that held the valuable painting. As the office Agent in Charge Peter had the power to approve the use of the actual Kandinsky for the operation, but that also meant he took full responsibility if something happened to the painting while it was in the field. Neal had hinted that he might have access to a Robert Delaunay forgery if not too many questions were asked. Peter had turned him down, not wanting to deal with the complications of such an offer at the moment.

"We have a solution for that." Jones reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box that he handed to Peter. "Brand new from the tech department. It's amazing how tiny they are making stuff these days."

Peter and Neal exchanged a quick glance as they were both reminded of the video camera that Mozzie had found in Peter's living room. Yesterday while waiting for the Fisher meet up Neal, Mozzie and Peter had systematically torn through Neal's apartment, but they didn't find anything similar.

Taking the box from Jones Peter opened it up and knit his brow together as he looked at the small device inside made of a combination of clear and flesh coloured plastics. Taking it out carefully in his forefingers he held it up, it was only slightly larger than a pea. Neal stepped up for a closer look.

"Is that an ear piece?" Neal asked impressed.

"It is." Jones nodded. "It goes completely into the ear canal, invisible from the outside."

"How am I supposed to get this thing back out of my ear?" Peter asked as he looked at the tiny device warily.

"Actually you'll need someone else with a pair of tweezers and a steady hand to get it out for you." Jones admitted. "There is a little tab on it specifically for pulling it back out again. It may be a pain in the ass to remove, but unless someone shines an otoscope in your ear no one is going to see it."

Knowing that there wasn't much time before the meet Peter resigned himself to trying out the new piece. He winced as he pushed the small piece of plastic deep into his ear, it didn't fit like the traditional receiver that he was used to, it felt more like when he got water stuck in his ear. He also instantly noticed how it made him slightly deaf on the one side which he didn't like at all. He shook his head a few times once it was in to make sure it wasn't just going to fall out again.

"How's that feel?" Jones asked with a smile.

"If I have to go to the ER to get this thing out you're driving me there."

"It looks great." Neal commented. "I can't see it at all."

Peter took a step back annoyed as Neal peered at his ear. Jones brought out a small box with a wire that held a microphone with a clip on the end of it. He handed the box to Neal who turned it over in his hands a few times before figuring out how to turn it on.

"This is the transmitter end." Jones said unnecessarily.

"Can you hear me now?" Neal chuckled into the microphone.

Peter jerked away from the painful high pitched squeal that mixed with Neal's voice from the device in his ear. He reached out and snatched the microphone away from Neal and switched it off.

"What happened?" Neal asked concerned.

"Feedback." Peter complained.

"Oh, sorry, Peter. I forgot." Jones apologized "still ironing that bit out, it doesn't like being too close to the audio source. It's small, but it's powerful and has a very impressive range, but that makes it a little sensitive to interference."

"Are we ready to go?" Peter asked taking one last look around.

"Ready, Boss." Diana confirmed.

"I still can't believe Fisher is going to be at the buy, it's kind of sloppy of him." Neal said. "He should go through a middle man, less chance of getting caught."

"More chance of getting your money stolen. Finding middle men you can trust with several million dollars is difficult."

"Finding anyone to trust with anything can be difficult."

Peter paused at the somber tone Neal's voice had taken, but Neal seemed to have quickly recovered and was smiling brightly again.

"Go make a sale, I want to see what else Fisher has in his collection." Neal said. "He shows good taste with the Kandinsky, most of these guys only want Romantic Era stuff. Nice to see someone branching out."

Shaking his head sadly Peter picked up the case that held the Kandinsky and headed out of the van. The meet was happening on the 32nd floor of a large downtown office building. Fisher owned floors 28 through 33 of the skyscraper. The 32nd and 33rd floors were both currently under renovations, but the crew was working on 33 today so they had an empty floor to meet on. They had parked the van a block away, and being up on the 32nd floor meant that the response time to something going wrong was not going to be great.

Walking into the office building Peter looked a bit out of place in his plain shirt, jeans, and light weight black leather jacket, but the point wasn't to look like a businessman since that wouldn't be what Fisher was expecting. He went to one of the front receptionists and introduced himself as 'Peter Tanvor' to see Fisher. After a moment he was given an visitor pass that said 28th floor on it. Getting to the elevator he got on and pressed the button for the 32nd floor.

'Peter?' Neal's voice joined him on the elevator. 'Can you hear me?'

"I can." Peter replied, the transmitter in his watch relayed his voice back to Neal and the others.

'Good. Remember Kandinsky is all about the inner resonance of art, the main draw of his work is the spiritual effect that his color choice and pattern has on the viewer. So make sure that you set up somewhere with good light when you first show it to Fisher. Natural light will give a better impression than artificial.'

"Got it."

'Good luck.'

Peter didn't respond as he was getting close to the 32nd floor. The doors to the elevator opened revealing a man about Peter's age and height but with a good thirty extra pounds on him standing directly in front of the door. The man had the look of someone who had spent his earlier years as hired muscle who had now switched into security and bodyguarding. The man put his foot just inside the elevator door to keep it from closing and looked Peter over critically for a moment to see if he was a direct threat.

"I assume I am expected." Peter said when the man didn't move out of the way.

"Step out of the elevator and hold your arms out." The man motioned Peter forward and then reached for the painting case. "I will take that."

"This stays with me." Peter said firmly as he pulled it away.

"No way, hand it over."

"It's fine, Riley, let him keep it." Fisher said as he approached the elevator.

Riley didn't look particularly happy with letting Peter win this round but he allowed Peter to keep the case. Stepping off the elevator Peter lifted up his arms slightly to allow Riley to search him for weapons. There was one other man in the room who said nothing, he looked like classic security. Riley also ran his hand down the front of Peter's chest and stomach and across his shoulders and back looking for any evidence of a wire. Continuing the search Riley invaded Peter's pockets.

"Take this any further and I'm going to expect you to buy me dinner." Peter warned.

"Shut up." Riley growled as he continued the search by kneeling down and bringing his hand up from Peter's ankle towards his inseam.

"Get off me." Peter snarled as he batted Riley away when his touch threatened to get too intimate.

"That's enough, Riley." Fisher added.

"He's clean, but I don't like him." Riley said point blank as he stood back up. "My gut tells me he's dirty, he looks like a cop."

"I'm not a cop."

"They all say that." Riley hissed. "You've got law-boy written all over you."

"You calling me a liar?" Peter returned the same level of aggression.

"I guess I am. I don't think you've ever broken a rule let alone a law."

Peter spent a split second thinking about his options for reacting to Riley's accusation. It was clear that the man had some street smarts and was used to pushing people to see how they would push back. Fisher hadn't stepped in to smooth things over so it was clear that he at least took Riley's opinion under advisement. Coming to a decision based on the personality type of the guy they had caught who had agreed to set up this meeting Peter suddenly lashed out and punched Riley across the bridge of the nose.

Riley stumbled back in shock more than anything else, the other man in the room stepped closer to intervene if he had to but didn't look like he really wanted to get into it. Peter had hit Riley with a good deal of force, but not nearly hard enough to break bone or even cause a bloody nose. It was more a show that he was willing to be violent if that's what it took. It had been a risky move, but he knew that men like Riley tended to only respond to displays of power.

"How's that for 'police brutality'?" Peter snarled at Riley.

'Did you just throw a punch?' Neal chuckled in Peter's ear.

Riley had just gotten his bearings back and he was about to throw himself at Peter when Fisher finally stepped between the two men. Riley backed down but kept a close eye on Peter.

"Gentlemen," Fisher sighed "can we keep this to business?"

"I'm not the one who is running his mouth with accusations." Peter replied still sounding irritated. "If you want to do business, let's do business."

"You've got the Kandinsky?"

"No," Peter held up the case "it's a poster sized picture of a kitten in a tree. Just because you're wasting my time doesn't mean I'm here to waste yours."

"Of course not." Fisher forced a smile. "You can set up on the table here."

Most of the walls on the floor had been removed which allowed a good deal of natural light to stream in through the floor to ceiling windows. There was a set of saw horses with a large piece of plywood over them that the construction crew had been using as a table near the elevator. Fisher had Riley and the other man clear off a portion of the table so that Peter could set the case down flat. Peter unzipped the case and opened it for Fisher to inspect.

Fisher stepped up and looked down on the abstract painting with a bright smile. Peter still couldn't really appreciate the work, but he admired it with Fisher to try and help seal the deal. Fisher reached out to touch it and Peter stopped him.

"You buy it and you can put your fingerprints all over it, but until then I'd rather you not touch it."

"It really is a magnificent piece." Fisher said.

'The central aspect of all Kandinsky's work was his devotion to the inner beauty and the spiritual desire of art which he used the boldness of his pallet to convey.' Neal offered helpfully.

Peter parroted Neal's words for Fisher and did his best to sound as passionate about it as Neal did, but even to his own ear it sounded forced.

"You read that in an art book somewhere?" Fisher asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Wikipedia." Peter admitted. "I just move the art, I don't really stop to appreciate it."

"Honesty." Fisher nodded. "I like that."

'Nice save, Peter.'

"So, we got a deal?" Peter asked casually.

"I don't know yet."

"Okay..." Peter replied confused. "When do you think you might come to a decision? I don't like these house calls to take longer than they have to."

"My art expert is running late."

"Your art expert?"

"I never do a deal without him, I need him to verify that this isn't a forgery." Fisher said. "He'll be here soon."

"I don't have all day to wait around for your guy."

"He will be here." Fisher said confidently. "Give him a few more minutes."

'Peter,' Neal said urgently in Peter's ear 'I don't like this, I think he's stalling while his security people down stairs try to run a background on you now that they can pull a picture of you off the security camera. Depending on what software they have access to they might find you. Push this sale now or get out of there.'

"I don't know you and so far I don't like the company you keep." Peter motioned his head towards Riley. "I'm only doing this sale as a favor to Tony, but I'm starting to think that he's jerking me around by sending me here."

"I assure you I'm a serious buyer."

"Then stop wasting my goddamn time." Peter growled. "I didn't get where I am today by dealing in forgeries."

"Well it certainly looks authentic, but I need to be sure. Let me call the front desk, see if they have an update. He should be in the building by now."

"Fine."

'Peter, no' Neal advised 'tell him the deal is off, I don't like this. Something isn't right.'

Peter was inclined to agree, but he had the feeling that it wouldn't be as simple as packing up the painting and leaving anyway at this point, plus then they wouldn't have anything on Fisher and he'd be harder to get to a second time. Before Fisher could even reach for his phone the elevator chimed as it arrived and the doors open. An elderly and somewhat frail looking gentleman stepped off the elevator and apologized for being late. Peter was a little surprised to find that the art expert existed.

"It's real and it's beautiful." The older man announced after a careful inspection of the painting. "Almost as spectacular a find as the Fa..."

"That's enough." Fisher interrupted before turning to Peter. "Well, Mr. Tanvor, it looks like we have a deal. I'll have my man bring up the cash."

'We got that five by five.' Neal announced. 'Diana and Jones are heading up to make the arrests.'

"Hurry it up." Peter answered Fisher and Neal at the same time.

Fisher reached into his blazer and pulled out an older cell phone that had the 'push to talk' feature. Peter hadn't even been aware that anyone still made them anymore, he used to hear the annoying chirp that the phones made all the time. Jones always claimed that they caused cancer and although Peter didn't believe him Jones had shown him once how if you got one too close to a computer monitor the screen would flicker. Something about how the push to talk connected caused interference.

Even having the thought about how powerful the phones could be Peter was not prepared for it to set off the receiver in his ear in much the same way that Neal had in the van. Fisher pressed the button and the sudden piercing squeal caused Peter to automatically jerk away in pain. Fisher didn't seem to think much of Peter's flinch, but Riley pounced on Peter in a heart beat. Riley rushed up and grabbed a fist full of Peter's hair in one hand and Peter's wrist in the other. Riley yanked Peter's head back as he forced his arm back up between his shoulder blades to pin him.

"Key that thing again!" Riley ordered.

Fisher looked down at the press to talk in his hands in confusion for a moment before he pressed the contact again. Braced for the noise this time Peter was able to avoid reacting to the ear splitting sound, however it didn't matter Riley could hear the feedback squealing himself. He shoved Peter away and drew a 9mm handgun that he aimed at Peter's chest.

"He's no cop, he's a Fed!" Riley spat. "He's wired with something real high tech."

"Fisher," Peter said calmly as he raised his hands slightly "you are alrea..."

Peter stopped as Riley took an aggressive step toward him with the gun still level with his heart. Fisher was still looking a little shell shocked about everything that had just happened, however Riley looked angry and ready to kill. Even though Jones and Diana had started moving his way as soon as the deal was made they would still be six to eight minutes away.

It wasn't just Riley who posed a threat, the other security man who so far had said nothing was flanking Peter as well, although from the quick glance Peter gave him he didn't seem to be armed. When Riley took a step to the side to bring everyone into his line of sight Peter got the distinct feeling that Riley was only loyal to himself and seconds away from killing everyone in the room so he could run.

Riley cocked his weapon to take the first shot at Peter near point blank when the elevator chimed again. Peter didn't believe for a second that Jones and Diana had arrived so quickly, but he didn't really care who was at the elevator. All he cared about was the fact that the noise distracted Riley for a critical moment. When Riley glanced at the elevator Peter took the chance and lunged forward to grab Riley's wrist and jerk him forward. The gun went off close enough for Peter to feel the pressure wave, but there was no pain so he ran on the assumption that he had managed to not get shot.

Keeping a firm hold on Riley's wrist Peter drew back his free hand and slammed the heal of his palm against Riley's face. This time he did hit the man with enough force to break the bone. As Riley fell to his knees Peter took the opportunity to take the gun away from him as he released him. Peter backed up so that he could control the remaining people in the room more easily.

A quick assessment told Peter that there were no immediate threat left in the room. Riley was on his knees with his hands clutched to his bleeding face, Fisher had also dropped to floor at the sound of the gun shot, the secondary security guard was standing between Peter and Fisher with his hands raised peacefully, and the art expert had backed away also with his hands up.

Standing in front of the elevator was a man around Neal's age with gray-blue eyes and blonde hair that fell into his face. He was wearing a middle range business suit and appeared to have either a hand-rolled cigaret or more likely a joint dangling from his lips and a lighter in his hand. He had a very shocked expression on his face as he stared at Peter. Standing in the elevator door frame his body was preventing the door from closing. Frost's friend, Bryant, smiled at Peter as he reached up and took the burning joint from between his lips.

"Uh...hi guys..." Bryant said awkwardly as he pushed his hair out of his eyes.

"Who are you?" Peter demanded. "Keep your hands where I can see them."

"Me? I'm Ryan from accounting...just came up to smoke a quick 'J'." Bryant chuckled nervously as he took a step back on to the elevator. "I'll...uh...I'll just get back to work, you look busy."

"Don't lea..." Peter didn't bother finishing as the elevator doors closed.

Peter ground his teeth in frustration as the mysterious stoner disappeared. With everything mostly under control Peter took a moment to look down and make sure that he wasn't dripping in blood. He had heard of people getting shot in the mists of a confrontation and the adrenaline of the moment kept them from feeling the pain. He breathed a quick sigh of relief when he confirmed that he hadn't been injured.

Diana and Jones were on the scene quickly and began making the arrests. Neal had been right with them despite his orders to stay in the van. They had been able to hear what was going on, but the receiver still tucked into Peter's ear had stopped working after the the squealing had shorted it out. Peter let Jones and Diana handle things as his adrenaline wore off.

Neal came up with an anxious expression holding his arm close to his chest. Peter was starting to pick up on the fact that when Neal was stressed his shoulder became more of an issue for him, which made sense when he thought about it. Peter gave Neal a description of the action to match with the audio that Neal already knew. Neal reached out and pulled the lightweight leather jacket that Peter was wearing away from his body to reveal the hole that went through it from the bullet's path.

"Peter...that was really close."

"Don't tell El." Peter said seriously.

"I wouldn't dare tell her. That really was an amazing stroke of luck."

"I honestly think that this would have been a bloodbath if that guy hadn't stepped off the elevator at that exact moment."

"So 'Ryan' from accounting saved your life because he decided to take a break and go to the floor that's under construction to get high at just the right time?" Neal asked doubtfully.

"Sounds absurd when you say it like that."

"You know what I'm thinking don't you?"

"No. I don't think I ever know what you're thinking. I'm grateful for that fact."

"I'm thinking that maybe I'm not the only one on the protection list."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter Twenty-six

"Gentle, be gentle."

"I am being gentle, Peter. Hold still."

"This isn't going to work."

"It's going to work, just stop squirming." Neal complained. "Trust me, I've worked in tighter places with larger equipment."

"Can we just get this over with?"

"It would be over already if you'd just relax."

"I could relax if your hands weren't like ice. Why are you hands so cold?"

"Stop talking, you're just making it harder."

Neal was distracted from trying to fish the ear piece out of Peter's ear by the sound of snickering. Neal looked over at Diana and Jones who were both trying their hardest not to laugh. Diana's eyes were bright with unshed tears as she shook with silent mirth. Neal smiled and winked at the two Agents, he had been using the suggestive word play intentionally at Peter's expense. Taking his task more seriously he went back to concentrating on the job at hand. It was like playing a game of 'Operation', every time the tweezers touched the inside of Peter's ear he jerked away and they had to start over again.

"Please tell me we recorded that audio." Diana chuckled to Jones.

"Oh yeah." Jones smiled brightly.

"You're all children." Peter grumbled.

"No arguments here." Neal admitted. "Got it." Neal announced as he was finally able to pull the ear piece free.

"Never again." Peter snatched the device from Neal and closed it in its box. "This thing nearly got me killed."

"If you had just let me go instead."

"Drop it, Neal." Peter warned. "Do we have the warrant for Fisher's house yet?"

"We do."

"Good. Neal and I will check it out."

"Exciting." Neal beamed. "I can't wait to see what he's got."

"You are not to leave my sight in that house, not for a single second and you are not to touch nothing."

"Best behavior, look but don't touch, got it. Let's go."

Peter was pleased to see Neal actually looking forward to something, it had been a while. In fact other than the security check at the Museum this was the first real case that Neal had been on since the shooting. The way that Neal grabbed his blazer and slipped it on with practiced ease also supported Peter's theory that his shoulder only flared up when he was stressed. Hopeful that there was actually something that could be done about Neal's pain Peter exchanged his damaged leather coat for his usual sports jacket and followed Neal out of the van to the car.

Feeling the need to check in with Elizabeth Peter connected to the car's bluetooth to call her. He had no intention of telling her about his close call. He wouldn't admit it out loud but he was still a little rattled by it and the more he had a chance to think about it as the adrenaline fully faded the worse the knot in his stomach became. The phone rang twice over the car's speakers before Elizabeth picked up.

'Peter.' Elizabeth greeted.

"Hey, Hon."

'It's good to hear your voice.' Elizabeth purred.

"I'm in the car on the hands free, Neal's with me." Peter said quickly.

'Thanks for the warning.' Elizabeth chuckled. 'Hi, Neal.'

"Hello, Elizabeth. Enjoying DC?"

'Not really.'

"Missing Peter?" Neal asked knowingly.

'I am.' She admitted. 'More than usual even for me.'

"Speaking of which, I'm the one who called." Peter pointed out. "So zip it, Neal."

"Sorry." Neal smiled.

'Everything okay?' Elizabeth asked sounding worried.

"Everything is fine." Peter replied trying to feel like he wasn't lying to her. "I just wanted to see how you were feeling?"

'I'm okay right now. I don't know what's been wrong with me the past few mornings. Of course I'm not getting a lot of sleep without you so that could be it.'

"I'm sorry I had to ask you to stay longer."

'Any chance that I can come home soon?' Elizabeth asked hopefully.

"I still have a few details to iron out here."

'Alright.' Elizabeth sighed. 'I love you.'

"I love you too. We'll talk more tonight."

'I'll look forward to it.'

Peter hit the button on the steering wheel that ended the hands free call. Neal was staring at Peter with an expectant look on his face but Peter had no idea what he wanted. A full minute passed and Neal was still watching him as though he was waiting for a conversation to just magically happen.

"What?" Peter finally asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Elizabeth's been sick?" Neal asked concerned. "Sick in the morning? Like...well..."

"Like what?" Peter asked when Neal didn't finish his thought.

"Nothing. Never mind."

Neal made a point to stare out the window as if he was suddenly fascinated by the city. Peter furrowed his brow, still not making the connection. It was a bit of a drive from Fisher's downtown office to his home and after about fifteen minutes of silence, which was possibly a record for Neal, Peter noticed that he was starting to shake his hand and stretch his fingers out as they rebelliously curled in towards his palm. He was growing noticeably more agitated as he sat quietly.

"Neal? What's going on?"

"You should have let me do the meet with Fisher." Neal said quietly.

"Neal, I'm sorry." Peter said sincerely. "It's not that I don't trust you, it's just that lately you ha..."

"You were almost killed." Neal interrupted as if the thought had just now occurred to him. "Diana checked that gun, 9mm high powered hollow points...you wouldn't have survived a shot to the gut with a weapon like that. Even if by some miracle you did live, you'd never be the sa..."

"I know." Peter interrupted to stop Neal's train of thought. "It's dangerous job."

"It doesn't have to be."

"What?"

"Peter, you should be in Washington." Neal said seriously. "At the very least you shouldn't still be out in the field. You're the head of the White Collar division now, what are you doing still going undercover?"

"I'm good at it and I enjoy field work."

"It doesn't have anything to do with the fact that the last time you assigned me a new handler he ended up dead?"

"Agent Siegel's death wasn't my fault." Peter said defensively.

"I didn't say it was." Neal said sincerely. "But you can't deny the fact that you stayed in New York, and that you continue to work in the field so that you can be my handler."

"You certainly influenced my decisions." Peter admitted. "But every move I make isn't just because of you."

"I know I'm not the center of your Universe, far from it, but I think I have more influence on your choices than I should." Neal insisted as he cradled his arm against his stomach. "The simple truth boils down to the fact that you stay in New York because of me, and I stay here because of you. With everything that's been coming to light lately I'm not sure that this relationship is healthy for either one of us anymore."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Say the word and I'm gone."

"Gone?"

"I could be half way around the world by tomorrow. It might be best for us both."

"You want to be back on the run?"

"No." Neal shook his head sadly. "In fact right now it's just about the last thing that I want, but it's inevitable so I might as well do it while I still have a chance to do something good for you in the process."

"Inevitable?" Peter repeated. "You really believe that?"

"I do. You can't tell me you don't feel the same about my chances at 'reform'."

"I wouldn't have worked with you as long as I have if I didn't think it had any hope of working. I believe you can live a better life, Neal, I've always believed that."

"But that's the problem, Peter, I don't think I'd find the kind of life that you want me to live to be a 'better one' than the one I had before."

"That I don't believe." Peter said firmly. "You can't just continue with a life of crime and deceit and ever expect to be happy. You won't find anyone who truly loves you who wants to live that kind of lifestyle with you."

"I found that with Kate."

"Did you really?"

Peter instantly regretted his words. For a second Neal looked liked he'd had a knife sunk into his heart. Falling silent once more Neal turned away and stared back out at the city that was going about its day outside the car window. Peter tried to piece together what had changed Neal's mood so quickly. He had been acting like his usual self for the first time in months, but after the phone call with Elizabeth his thoughts had obviously taken a dark turn.

"Neal, don't run. Please. We will find a better way for you, I promise."

"It's not really me who I'm worried about."

"What?"

"Protection from an unknown party or not, things have gotten dangerous. I can't be the one who gets you killed. I think we need to do something about the risks you've been taking on my behalf lately."

"Neal, I'm not taking any more risk than I usua..."

"Peter, what if Elizabeth is pregnant?"


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter Twenty-seven

"Neal, El isn't pregnant."

"How can you know that?"

"That is absolutely none of your business, and I will not discuss it with you. Just accept that I know." Peter said firmly. "You need to calm down and stop searching for reasons to bolt."

"I just thought..."

"Well don't."

"I'm sorry."

"I know it's in your instincts to run when things start to get difficult, but I need you to trust that not only can we find a solution to all of this together, but that I am more than capable of taking care of myself and my own life. I'm not the one who needs a handler."

"I'm sorry." Neal repeated. "I don't even know why I suggested otherwise."

"Because you don't stop to think before you talk or act for that matter."

"You're not the first one to accuse me of that." Neal smiled.

"And I won't be the last."

Neal managed to chuckle and relaxed somewhat. He still reached up and rubbed at his shoulder. Peter knew that the pain must be wearing on him and now that he was fully off the pain killers there was little in the way of relief. He told himself that the pain was the main factor behind his odd behavior over the past ten minutes, since Peter counted 'honesty' as odd behavior. Neal was just the type to think that he could run away from any problem even if it was himself.

"Neal I know your shoulder is frustrating you..."

"It's killing me." Neal sighed. "I don't know why I can't just shut it out if it's all in my head."

"For all we know there really is something physically wrong."

"No, I don't think so." Neal shook his head. "The conversion disorder fits too perfectly, the pain does still come and go. I just thought that I would be better able to control it now that I know the cause."

"Mind over matter isn't that simple. I remember, maybe ten years back, I went to this classical performance, I think it was Rachmaninoff. In any case there was this woman who sang several arias and once she started singing she shook like a leaf through her entire performance. I was honestly afraid that she was going to pass out at any moment. I learned that apparently it was completely normal for her, she was one of the top performers in her field, lavished with nothing but praise, a confident woman in casual conversation and who enjoyed her career. There was no reason for her to be nervous, but put her up on stage and her body nearly shut down on her."

"You went to an classical concert?" Neal asked sounding doubtful.

"For Elizabeth."

"There it is." Neal chuckled.

"My point is that even while doing something she loved something deep in her mind had a powerful effect on her body and it wasn't as easy as just 'getting over it'."

"If only I could just step off the stage and feel better."

They had finally arrived at Fisher's house, which was good because Peter didn't know what else to say at the moment. Getting out of the car he tried to put the entire exchange between them behind him for now. Focusing on the case in front of him was all he had strength for at the moment.

Getting out of the car Neal attempted to do the same thing as far as focusing on the case at hand. At the moment all he really wanted to do was down a handful of percocet and curl up in bed for a few days. He had believed it when he had told Peter that he only had a physical addiction to the pain killers, but now he was starting to fear that he may actually have a stronger emotional attachment to them. Following Peter up the granite steps towards the opulent house Neal managed to regain his previous excitement about what they might find inside and put aside other thoughts.

"Fisher likes abstract, maybe he has a Picasso." Neal grinned. "You know Le Pigeon Aux Petits Pois, and Harlequin Head have never been recovered. There is a theory that Harlequin may have been burned by the thieves, but imagine if we found it here instead."

"The sheer amount of paperwork in recovering something like that makes me hope it's not here."

"If there is a Picasso in here I will personally fill out the paperwork for you if I can get my name credited on the recovery."

"Deal."

"Sara will be so proud if I mange to 'recover' something like that."

"Do you still talk to her since she moved to London?"

"No, but I'd hunt her down to tell her I had a Picasso."

"She'd know, that's the kind of find that makes headlines worldwide."

"Good point. Ready to be famous?"

Peter just shook his head sadly and knocked on the door. There were already a set of field Agents at Fisher's house making sure that no one came and went. The house staff was aloof since they knew they were going to be out of work soon, but they didn't interfere with the investigation of the house. Peter was more interested in the computer and the files that it may contain on the Ponzi scheme than he was in recovering art. The art was a nice bonus, but it was the people who had been scammed by Fisher that Peter was looking to protect at the moment.

While Peter looked through Fisher's home office and instructed the Agents on what to pack up as evidence Neal wandered over to the floor to ceiling bookcase that took up the left wall. Reaching out and touching the bindings, despite Peter's previous orders not to touch anything Neal noticed something odd about some of the books.

"Very clever." Neal smiled. "Peter, check this out."

"What did you find?" Peter asked without looking up from Fisher's desk.

"A secret door."

"You're kidding?"

Neal hooked his fingers into the top of a line of books at eye level and pulled. Three off the spines on the books swung open as one piece, revealing that they were just a facade over a small glass panel that lit up with red numbers. Leaning in Neal breathed heavily on the glass to fog it to reveal the smear pattern like he had on Peter's phone. It took him two tries to figure out where the starting point was but the numbers suddenly turned green and there was a heavy sound as the locking mechanism disengaged.

"You need to wear gloves if you're going to have a swipe pad," Neal pointed out "at the very least you need to clean it off once in a while."

"You can get into my phone can't you?" Peter grumbled.

"I wouldn't do that."

"Yeah, right."

Peter left the other Agents to carefully pack the computer for investigation at the tech lab and joined Neal by the false bookcase. With his pain forgotten Neal reached out easily with his right hand and shoved at the area of books that he suspected held the door. It took a bit of force but a panel the size of a large door did swing inward. The door lead to a set of stairs that went down.

"It's like a Scooby-Doo mystery." Neal said. "Keep an eye out for old men dressed up as ghosts."

"This must just go down into the basement, why go to so much trouble?"

"It would be easier to hide a room in a basement since people rarely go down there, if you sealed off a room in the middle of the house it wouldn't take more than a quick glance to realize that there was a large section on the main floor that didn't lead to any regular rooms."

"Alright, let's check it out." Peter said as he unholstered his weapon.

Neal wasn't certain that the gun was necessary, but he wasn't about to argue about it. Peter took the lead down the stairs with Neal a few steps back. The flight of stairs lead to a dark arch way at the bottom. When they arrived at the room the lights automatically sensed them and flickered on.

With a wide grin Neal stared out over the dragon horde that Fisher had collected over the years to hide the money he was embezzling. Investors and Federal Agents took notice when you started buying lots of expensive art at auction, cash under the table for stolen works was easier to hide. The stash wasn't as impressive as the billions worth of Nazi plunder, it wasn't even really a comparable close second, but it was still breathtaking. From where he was standing Neal could see six instantly recognizable stolen paintings including Rembrandt's 'The Storm on the Sea of Galilee' that was part of a three hundred million dollar heist of various works from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston in 1990.

Neal had been very impressed by the heist and had often wished he'd been a part of it. Although he knew he was going to have to a close look at the painting since he had made a forgery of it himself a few years after it had been stolen. There was just as much chance that the painting was his rather than Rembrandt's. Looking over the cluttered collection Neal was feeling very much like a kid in a candy store.

"Peter...I might need you to pinch me to make sure I'm not dreaming." Neal breathed in awe.

"This is far more money than we suspected Fisher of hiding."

"Black market value of paintings is often a lot lower than appraised value since they are difficult to find trust worthy buyers for. And even though he had an 'art expert' there is a good chance that there are forgeries here that he would have gotten good deals on. He might even know they are forgeries, but if they are good enough they'd still have high value."

"Anything jump out at you as an obvious forgery?"

"I'll need a closer look."

"Go for it."

"Really?"

"Just don't get your fingerprints on anything."

Neal reached into his pockets and pulled out a set of thin black leather gloves that he'd brought along just in case. Peter rolled his eyes and waved Neal away. Neal went directly to the Rembrandt, if it was real it would be a priceless find. Unfortunately he didn't even need to take out his loupe to discover it was a forgery, and not even his own. It was very well done, but lacked the true depth of color that Rembrandt did so flawlessly and it wasn't as good as his own forgery. There were works from some lesser known artists near by that proved to be genuine, but nothing that was going to make national headlines.

Neal quickly became lost wandering in the neatly placed works, most of which were propped up against stone pillars of various heights. Anything that he determined at a glance were forgeries he flipped upside down so that the Agents collecting the evidence would know that the art was already suspect. There wasn't just paintings strewn about, there were statues and other three dimensional trinkets as well.

Finding himself drawn to the far corner of the room Neal furrowed his brow as he spotted a large leather bound book sitting on a pedestal in the corner. Walking over to the over sized book Neal inspected the cover, there was no title, even the spine was blank. It looked old but not ancient, from the condition and type of leather Neal guessed somewhere between 1900 and 1930.

Out of all the treasures found in the room this was the only book Neal had seen. Wearing the leather gloves Neal opened the book carefully. The leather binding didn't protest to being moved proving that the book had been opened on a regular basis sometime recently. The front page was spectacular, it was a complex drawing of jewels, scroll work, landmarks, and highly stylized Russian text. Peering closer Neal realized that this front page was an original drawing that had been hand inked into the front of the book.

"The Diamond Fund, 1922?" Neal translated the Russian. "That can't be right, The Diamond Fund was published in 1925 and it certainly didn't have a hand inked front page, in fact the front page is just plain with a title. Three years is a long time for a 'first draft' of something like this, and why didn't this page make it into the final production?"

Neal didn't even realize that he was talking to himself. The 1925 Diamond Fund was a book that Neal had read countless times, he still had a copy of it in his apartment. It was a detailed catalog of the unique collection of gems, stones, jewelry, and Russian treasures that were originally the pride of the House of Romanov a dynasty that lasted three hundred years. After the bloody revolution that left the Czar's family slaughtered in 1917 the riches of the Romanov's were looted, moved, stolen, partially recovered and in 1922 the bulk of the collection was placed in the Diamond Fund in the Kremlin where it is still on display. However it wasn't open to the public until 1967 and during that time the treasure was shrouded in mystery with the only evidence of it the 1925 catalog.

There were seven historical gems that lay in the Diamond Fund along side the Imperial Crown of Russia. The stone that had always fascinated Neal the most was the massive Orlov Diamond that was almost the size of a chicken egg that was set into the Imperial Scepter. Neal had risked taking a tour of the display when he was in Europe just to see it. It almost didn't look real it was so spectacular with it's original Indian rose cut shape and crystal clear color with just a hint of blue. It was right along side the Shah Diamond, a large flat diamond that held the names of three Persian Rulers who had owned it before the Romanovs engraved in its facets.

"Neal?" Peter called.

Lost in the book Neal didn't hear his name. Once he opened it past the front page he discovered it wasn't a printed book, but rather a photo album that appeared to have original photos stuck to the pages. The first few pages Neal recognized from his own 1925 copy. He had just come to a page that held a picture he'd never seen when Peter had called his name again.

"Neal, get over here." Peter ordered from the other side of the room.

"Peter, I found a book that is absolutely amazing. You need to see this."

"No, you need to see *this*." Peter said urgently. "Right now."

Neal wasn't about to put the book he'd found down so he closed it gently and brought it with him. Peter was standing in the other corner of the room where there was a teak table. Peter was standing with his back to Neal obscuring the view of whatever he was looking at. Neal stepped up to Peter's side and his heart jumped into his throat at the sight.

Peter was using a handkerchief to hold open the lid on a medium sized lacquered box. Nestled in folds of silk that lined the box were four Faberge Eggs. Neal's eyes were instantly drawn to the 'Rosebud' egg which was the one that he had stolen from the Art Museum. However the shock of seeing the Rosebud again was nothing compared to the sight of the Alexander III Commemorative egg which had been lost in the chaos after the revolution. It was a priceless piece of history. Neal wasn't certain but he was fairly certain that the other two eggs were the Blue Serpent Clock and the Swan, the two eggs that had recently been stolen in Europe out of private collections.

"Wow...okay...I was not expecting that."


	28. Chapter 28

Twenty-eight

"My client has no comment on that."

"What a surprise. Does he have any comment on the fact that we already have enough evidence on him to lock him away for the next fifty years and that I'm actually trying to help? Or does he not understand what's happening here?" Peter turned his attention away from the lawyer and directly to Fisher. "I thought you were brighter than this."

Watching Peter interrogate Fisher through the one way mirror Neal smiled at Peter's mocking tone. Neal had seen this particular interrogation technique before and it seemed like a good match for Fisher. People tended to want to defend their intelligence when the authority figure in the room appeared to be dismissing them as ignorant. So far it had been over an hour and Fisher hadn't said a single word. Peter's goal at the moment was to get him talking, the subject didn't really matter at first.

Looking Fisher over Neal was surprised that he hadn't talked yet. He was clearly nervous, perhaps even on the edge of panic. His chest was rising and falling in a quick cadence to keep up with his racing heart rate and there was a heavy line of sweat at his receding hair line. However his lawyer was doing a very good job at keeping him quiet and answering for him. Peter had a folder on the table which he opened and spread out a group of photos of the Faberge Eggs that had been found in Fisher's collection.

"I am willing to consider leniency on the stolen art dealing charges if you just help me out with who you got the Faberge Eggs from."

"Mr. Burk..."

"Agent Burke." Peter corrected the lawyer sharply.

"Agent Burke," the lawyer smiled sweetly "my client doesn't have any comment on these photos. In fact we are still looking into the legitimacy of your search of private property in a corporate investigation."

"Look into it all you want. I can show you the warrant again right now if you'd like. That basement was like a museum."

"My client has no knowledge of any 'secret art room' within his household." The lawyer stated calmly.

"Now your client is just pissing me off."

"It's an old house, Agent Burke, lots of homes in the New York area from that time period have 'speak easy' rooms that the owners aren't aware of."

"Speak easy rooms don't tend to be guarded by state of the art technology." Peter pointed out.

"A previous owner could have placed it there, my client bought the house only two years ago."

Neal turned his attention away from the hopeless interrogation as Jones entered the room. Neal flashed Jones a smile but didn't get one in return. Jones had noticed in the van the way Neal's hand curled when he was stressed and had instantly connected it to the surveillance video of the museum. At least that's what Neal assumed was causing the tension between them. Jones hadn't said anything to him about it, but there was definitely some mistrust.

"How's it going in here?" Jones asked.

"Not good. Fisher isn't talking and his lawyer is just stonewalling."

"Typical lawyer."

"Pretty much." Neal shrugged before slipping his hands into his pockets.

"Does Peter think there is a direct connection between the recent egg heist and Fisher or does he just think he bought them off someone?"

"I don't know. Either way I don't think Fisher is going to say a word."

"Maybe you should go in there and give Peter an excuse to end the interview." Jones suggested. "He'll stay in there for hours rather than admit defeat unless he has a way to make it look like he's dismissing Fisher for something more important."

"Good idea."

Neal turned to leave and hid a slight smile. He knew that what Jones really wanted was to see how Fisher reacted to seeing him. If he had sold the egg to Fisher then Fisher would more than likely have a reaction to seeing him at the FBI. However since Neal had never met Fisher before today there was no danger in stepping into the room. Neal went around to the door on the far side and knocked. Getting permission to enter Neal stepped inside. Fisher glanced at him without interest.

"Agent Burke?" Neal asked formerly.

"What do you want, Caffrey?"

"Something's come up." Neal said vaguely. "Urgent."

"I'll be right there."

"Yes, Sir." Neal nodded and left.

Peter waited a moment before pushing his chair away from the desk and getting to his feet. He didn't officially dismiss Fisher and his lawyer as he headed for the door.

"Are we done here?" The lawyer asked.

"For now." Peter turned back and reached into his jacket to pull out a business card which he slid across the table towards Fisher. "Call me if you change your mind on cooperating."

The lawyer went to pick up the card but Peter leaned over and pinned the card to the table with his fingertips.

"That's not for you." Peter said firmly as he picked the card back up and offered it directly to Fisher. "Trust me, you're going to want to keep that."

Looking like he might pass out at any moment Fisher just nodded and took the card. Peter kept his eye contact with Fisher until Fisher turned away. Feeling that he'd at least left an impression on Fisher Peter left. Neal was standing outside with a bright smile and followed along side Peter as he headed back towards his office.

"'Yes, Sir'?" Peter questioned.

"Did you like that?" Neal chuckled.

"It was a little much, but thank you for the rescue."

"It was Jones' idea. I think he knows I took the egg, at the very least he strongly suspects."

"Of course he does, I didn't make him ASAC without reason."

"Good point."

"Luckily I don't really need Jones to trust you, I just need him to trust me. I will deal with the problem when he comes to me with it."

"Can we go down to evidence?" Neal asked hopefully. "I really want to take a close look at those eggs."

"You already got a close enough look at one of them."

"I was highly distracted at the time. Also that book is fascinating I really want to look though that. Please?"

Peter had a lot of paperwork to deal with on the Fisher case and the last thing he really wanted to do at the moment was babysit Neal while he looked at evidence for the kicks of it. He didn't think that Neal would tamper with any of it, but in order to keep the proper 'chain of custody' he couldn't be left alone with it. Peter's phone alarm suddenly beeped at him. Silencing the phone he went over to the coffee station and poured a small cup of water which he handed to Neal. Neal took the cup with a sigh as Peter fished out the bottle of percocet that was in his pocket and shook out two of the pills. Neal still had two days worth of stepping down off the medication and Peter could see the fine layer of sweat from residual withdrawal slicking Neal's skin.

"I feel ridiculous having you handing these out to me like Nurse Ratched." Neal grumbled as he took the pills.

"Do you honestly think it's a good idea for me to just hand you the whole bottle?"

"No, not really."

Neal made a show of knocking the pills back, but in reality he let them slip down the the sleeve of his jacket. He hadn't taken any of the medication offered to him by Peter today, instead he had been pocketing it. Drinking the water he threw the cup away before slipping his hands into his pockets and letting the pills shake out of his jacket to join the others. He had eight of them now which was what he knew he needed to get any kind of decent sleep. He didn't have any intention of abusing the drugs to the level that had before, but he also wanted to something to fall back on if he had a bad night.

"Can we go down to evidence now?" Neal asked.

"Fine."

"It will be fun, I promise."

Peter didn't look so certain about the fun aspect of the trip down to evidence but he was willing to spend a few minutes down there if it meant keeping Neal's mind off his shoulder. Ever since recovering the book and the eggs he seemed to be doing better as far as pain was concerned. The pair walked to evidence and Peter signed them in. In the evidence room Neal had trouble deciding what he wanted to look at first. The eggs were amazing, but the book was a true mystery.

The allure of gold won over the uniqueness of the book and Neal brought down the box that held the Alexander III Commemorative Egg which had been missing since 1917. There was a small table for inspecting evidence that held a variety of magnifying glasses and gloves. Neal put the box down reverently and pulled on a pair of gloves before removing the decorative piece.

The Egg was much larger than any chicken or even goose egg being nearly seven inches tall. It was covered in gold, platinum, white enamel and a variety of cut diamonds. The white egg with ribbons of gold and platinum had the diamonds arranged in several portraits of baskets of flowers. The sheer craftsmanship of the egg was spectacular. Studying the outside of the egg Neal could almost imagine the Dowager Empress's excitement to receive the yearly gift.

"Is it authentic?" Peter asked.

"If it's a forgery, it's an amazing one. This is one of only two missing eggs that have pictures so I suppose it could be done. However, my instincts say that this is real."

"Don't drop it."

Neal chuckled but then realized that Peter's warning was probably serious considering the trouble he'd been having with his hand. However distracted by the beauty of the egg Neal found himself to be completely pain free at the moment. Very carefully Neal found the tiny latch that kept the egg closed. He opened the hollow egg to reveal a smooth white enamel lining.

"It's missing the surprise." Neal said with obvious disappointment.

"Surprise?"

"Every Faberge Egg held a surprise of some sort inside. This one should have a tiny bust of Alexander III made of gold and stones."

"I really don't see the allure of these things."

"They are works of art."

"They are tacky."

Neal just shook his head sadly. Neal took a closer look at the inside of the egg. If it was a forgery the artist probably wouldn't have paid as close attention to detail to the inside. Furrowing his brow Neal picked up one of the magnifying glasses and looked closer. The inside layer of the egg appeared to be scratched, but the scratches didn't seem random.

"Peter, I think the inside of this egg is engraved with something."

"What?"

"I don't know, it's too faint to really see well. If I had some ink I could rub it into the grooves to make it show up the way you do with scrimshaw."

"Neal, you are not rubbing ink on the inside of a Faberge Egg." Peter said firmly.

"This could be important, maybe a message from the artist Peter Carl."

"I don't care if a copy of the lost sections of the Rosetta Stone is inscribed on it you are not staining it."

"The Rosetta Stone?" Neal questioned as he put the egg down. "Nice reference, have you been saving that one?"

"That one and a few others." Peter smiled. "I also considered going with a copy of 'Love's Labour's Won'."

"The lost Shakespeare play? No, the Rosetta Stone analogy was better."

"The point being I am not having you destroy one artifact to discover another."

"I'm sure I can come up with a better way."

"I can't have you tampering with evidence, Neal. I shouldn't even be letting you look at it."

"Fingerprinting dust might do the trick and that's something that gets put on evidence all the time."

"I'll ask the lab boys about it."

Neal started packing the egg away carefully, now that he had found the scratches he wanted to see if the others had markings as well. Before he could bring down the next egg Peter's cell phone rang. Peter answered and spent a few minutes on the phone mostly saying 'okay'. Peter thanked the caller and put his phone away.

"What was that all about?"

"Apparently the book you're so interested in belongs to the USGS rare book library. When it was logged into evidence it triggered a red flag. It was stolen from the main USGS library a few years back and they are anxious to verify its authenticity."

"The United States Geological Survey? Why do they own a book on Russian treasure?"

"No idea. They are sending their expert over tomorrow."

"Expert?"

"Apparently he's flying out from Colorado to come look at it."

"Sounds like a lot of trouble just for a book. Did you get his name?"

"Devon Frost."


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-nine

Laying on his back Neal stared up at the ceiling above his bed. It was two in the morning and he was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. His wrist was contorted into an unnatural position that had turned painful long ago, but he was determined to just ignore it. Twenty feet away tucked into the pocket of his jacket was the handful of percocet that he had spent all day collecting. However Peter was still insisting that it wasn't safe for him to be left alone and was currently sleeping peacefully beside him.

Neal envied Peter's ability to just sleep, although he was more than a little irritated by his decision to sleep here tonight. Although when he thought about it Peter was right, he would have relapsed if he'd been left alone tonight, at least to a small degree. Trying to be grateful for Peter's help Neal attempted to fall asleep. However every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Rebecca turning her gun on him and then everything in his mind turning to blood, panic, and pain. Thinking about it made his shoulder worse, but keeping the thoughts at bay at night seemed impossible. During the day he could distract himself, at night he was left alone with his thoughts.

What disturbed Neal the most is that the memory never seemed to play exactly the same in his mind. He was losing hold of the truth of the events, and doubting himself as to whether or not he ever even had them in the first place. He had told Peter several times that Rebecca's finger had never gone near the trigger, and that she wasn't a threat. As time went by when he closed his eyes the scene could just as easily play out the way Peter had described it. For Neal it was becoming more difficult to know what was actually the truth and what he wanted to delude himself into believing. He knew memory was a delicate thing and that particularly small details were easily overwritten by desires.

He could barely stand the thought of Rebecca wanting him dead and willing to kill him herself. Kate had hid from him for reasons he'd never know. Alex pushed him away when he had started trying to walk a more straight and narrow path with Peter. Sara pulled away when she had discovered the treasure and that he hadn't left behind his criminal behavior despite his best efforts. None of the women he loved ever seemed to truly love who he was in return, they all appeared to have an idealized notion of him that he could never live up to. Rebecca may have started out as a lie but even Peter had pointed out that she had honestly fallen in love with him.

"She saw both sides of me and she didn't even flinch...but she was also psychotic."

Worrying that he was over romanticizing what had happened between them Neal turned his thoughts to the etchings he had found on the inside of the Faberge Egg. He had tried making a rubbing of them with some thin tracing paper and a pencil but the scratch marks had been too fine. The fingerprint dust hadn't worked either since it was more designed to stick to the oil left behind that formed a fingerprint. It was entirely likely that the scratches were nothing, but they tugged naggingly at Neal's curiosity. Plus there was still the mystery of how Fisher ended up with the eggs since it really didn't look like Fisher had anything to do with deceiving him into the original heist.

The book found in Fisher's stash was another matter that had caught Neal's interest. He hadn't had time to really look at it yet since he'd been so engrossed by the Faberge eggs. Trying to visualize the artwork that had adorned the front page Neal started to wonder why the page was so elaborate when the rest of the book was basically just a photo album. Turning the puzzle over in his mind began to act much in the same way that counting sheep did. As the pain in his shoulder faded and his hand began to relax he finally drifted off to sleep.

It had been a few hours but it felt like only seconds when Neal was woken by Peter getting out of the far side of the bed. Sitting up Neal looked around at the new morning a bit bleary eyed. Despite the fact that he had slept Peter didn't look particularly well rested himself. Neal knew he didn't want to be here, he wanted to be home with Elizabeth and he couldn't blame him for that. Peter looked Neal over critically.

"You didn't sleep very well, did you?" Peter stated more than asked.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Painfully so." Peter shook his head sadly.

"First night in a while without the percocet." Neal shrugged. "Just give me a little more time."

"Do you want to take the day off? I can deal with the Fisher case myself."

"No. I want a look at that book before it's gone."

"Okay. A distraction might be just what you need."

Neal felt like a distraction was exactly what he needed and he found himself very eager to get a closer look at the 1922 Diamond Fund. He was even looking forward to meeting the 'expert' that the USGS was flying out to authenticate it. Once they were ready to head to the office Neal grabbed his own recreation copy of the 1925 book to compare it to. The 1925 book was officially titled 'Russia's Treasure of Diamonds and Precious Stones', and was considered the most complete inventory to the collection of Royal Jewels of Russia known as the 'Diamond Fund'. The original book only had a handful of copies ever made and the Russian government had quickly pulled the publication and many of the books were destroyed for unknown reasons.

Once at the office Neal was able to talk Peter into taking the book out of evidence and bringing it into his office. Neal knew that Peter wouldn't want to just stand in the evidence room watching him study the book for very long. Peter had spent a good ten minutes going over the rules on 'chain of custody', but he had agreed to bring the book out of evidence.

Unable to have the book out of Peter's sight Neal had to set up on the edge of Peter's desk while he leafed through it. Peter was busy going through the files that had been found on Fisher's computer as he searched for evidence of the ponzi scheme. Neal spent an hour carefully studying the art work on the front page of the album. There were some obvious Russian icons on the page, but it was also littered with some more obscure references and imagery that didn't quite seem to fit.

Looking over the page Neal found references that could easily be connected to the eggs that they had in evidence. There was a trellis of roses that climbed the side of the title that reminded him of the Rosebud egg. Midway across the page was a tiny drawing of a swan with its wings held open. The blue serpent wasn't as prominent, and it was difficult to tell if the blue line work was a snake or possibly just decorative scroll work.

Neal wanted to make a connection between the two finds, but the more he looked at the complicated painting the more he realized that the page was so cluttered that it wasn't any small wonder that he could find references to the eggs. The upper right corner also had a double headed eagle wearing a crown, a group of Saluki dogs ran across the bottom of the page, all in all over a dozen different themes and there were embellishments and scroll work everywhere.

Turning his attention more to the contents of the book Neal opened his own copy to compare it. Many of the pictures were exactly the same and the originals in the 1922 had clearly been used as plates for the mass produced 1925. Some of the pictures were slightly different but both books held photos of the same object in each. However as he continued to study it Neal realized that there were four pieces in the 1922 edition that were missing in the 1925 book. Among the stunning jewels were a sapphire and diamond bracelet, an emerald necklace, a sapphire and diamond broach in the shape of a bow with a sizable center stone, and a breathtaking sapphire and diamond tiara.

It was the tiara that really caught Neal's attention. It held nine large sapphires along with numerous brilliant diamonds. The platinum work that held the stones had graceful interconnecting curves that had drop diamonds hanging from their tips. Going back to the 1925 publication Neal flipped to a page that held a photo of all of the jewels spread out on a table. Using the magnifying glass he was able to spot the diamond tiara in the group photo as well as the other three pieces that were almost lost in the sea of gold and gems. Neal started to think that perhaps it was this group shot that had lead to the Russians trying to destroy the 1925 publication to hide the fact that the missing pieces existed.

"It's nice to see you so engrossed in something again." Peter noted as he took a break from the computer.

"Peter, this is amazing. There are four pieces from the Russian Royal Jewels in the 1922 book that don't appear again in the 1925 publication."

"The Russian revolution was chaotic and bloody, I'm sure there are plenty of treasures missing from the Romanov collection."

"Yes, but here is photographic evidence of four spectacular pieces. If they could be found..."

"No, no more treasure hunting." Peter said firmly. "You have gotten into more than enough trouble chasing after treasure for one lifetime."

"You're no fun anymore, Peter." Neal teased. "Some of our greatest adventures have been because of treasure."

"Right along with some of our darkest hours."

Neal fell silent having been sharply reminded of Elizabeth's kidnapping over the Nazi treasure horde. Although Peter had also been including the fact that Neal had been shot over treasure in his statement.

"I'm sorry, Neal." Peter sighed.

"No, you're right." Neal closed the book. "So what have you found on the financial side?"

"Fisher has been amazingly careful and clever in hiding this scam. It's a bit of a catch 22, if we had waited a month or two the ponzi would have fallen apart and it would be obvious."

"But then the investors would loose everything and Fisher would be long gone."

"Exactly, and looking at his investor list there are few bad apples in here but for the most part they are law abiding business men. With the kind of lawyers that Fisher can afford we might not actually be able to nail him for the ponzi scheme, but we've got more than enough with art crimes to lock him up for a long time."

"He's going to end up some place like Club Fed isn't he?" Neal huffed.

"Club Fed." Peter chuckled. "I had forgotten about that place, they closed it down a few years back. Eglin Federal Prison Camp in Florida that place really was pretty cushy as far as prison life is concerned. As I recall you tried to make a request for placement at Eglin at your sentencing."

"Which for completely unfair reasons I did not qualify for."

"Unfair? No judge was going to grant you minimum security placement."

"I had to try, after all that's where most white collar criminals end up."

"Neal your flight risk assessment score was the highest any of us had ever seen."

"I was kind of proud of that." Neal chuckled.

"I know you were." Peter rolled his eyes.

When Neal's stomach growled at him he glanced up at the clock on the wall and was surprised to find that it was nearly two in the afternoon. He'd been so focused on the book that he hadn't noticed that most of the day had slipped by. Feeling better than he had since he'd been shot Neal was about to suggest that they head out for lunch when there was a knock at the glass door to Peter's office. The door was open, but the guest had knocked on it anyway and was standing at the threshold, not about to enter without an invitation.

Neal looked over the tall African American man standing outside Peter's office with a visitor's tag on his lapel. He was wearing an ill fitting suit that had the feel of being his 'only suit' that had probably been purchased years prior for the rare occasions when he needed one. He stood with the same kind of attention that Jones tended to stand at giving Neal the impression that the man had a least some military background. He wore a set of heavy framed glasses that had a bit of a 1950's look to them but he pulled it off. He was looking at Peter, but when his glance shifted to Neal there was something out of place. It took him looking back to Peter for Neal to realize that only one of his eyes had move, the other was probably glass. Having noticed the motionless eye Neal could make out some faint scaring on the side of the man's face.

"Can I help you?" Peter asked politely.

"I certainly hope so, Agent Burke." He smiled brightly. "I'm Dr. Devon Frost, from the USGS."

"Of course, please come in."

Like a vampire that had just been given permission to enter Frost stepped over the threshold into Peter's office. He walked with a distinct limp as he approached. Peter got to his feet and came around the desk to greet his visitor. Neal got to his feet as well as Peter and Devon shook hands.

"It's good of you to fly all the way out here to authenticate the book." Peter said before turning to introduce Neal. "This is..."

"Neal Caffrey." Frost finished for Peter with a touch of excitement in his voice as he held his hand out for Neal.

"That's right." Neal shook Frost's hand somewhat hesitantly. "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm sorry, I'm just a bit of a fan of yours."

"A fan?" Neal asked confused.

"No, please don't do that," Peter complained "I have enough trouble with his ego as it is."

"I'm making a fool of myself, aren't I?" Frost flushed. "I'm sorry, you know us librarians, we don't get out much. I have the added social disadvantage of being a doctor of gemology so...well, let's just say that I'm better with books and rocks than I am with people."

"You know me because of the sister diamond to the Hope Diamond find." Neal pieced together.

"Yes." Frost nodded. "In fact I was on the team that authenticated the stone."

"So you got to hold the diamond?" Neal smiled.

"I did."

"Magnificent wasn't it?" Neal asked knowingly.

"Best day of my life." Frost said wistfully.

Peter just shook his head sadly at the pair. The stone had been amazing, but it certainly hadn't left the same impression on him as it had Neal and Frost. Frost's already bright demeanor lit up even more as he spied the battered leather book sitting on Peter's desk. He stepped past Neal and Peter as if they weren't even there to pick up the book. He reverently opened it and looked at the front page before he closed it again.

"There you are." Frost purred directly to the book. "I thought I'd never see you again."

Peter exchanged a glance with Neal that held the unspoken question: 'He's a little crazy, isn't he?'. Neal smiled and nodded slightly. Although the librarian/gemologist was certainly a little off socially Neal respected his apparent passion for the book. He didn't often meet people with the same kind of interest in art and history that he had and Frost seemed to exude enthusiasm if nothing else. Still holding the 1922 book Frost reached out and turned the cover of the other book around so that he could read it.

"Ah, the 1925 edition. You know I own one of the original copies of this."

"You do?"

"Technically it belongs to the USGS. Have you been comparing the two?"

"I have." Neal nodded. "Four unique pieces, very interesting."

"All of which remain lost to this day."

"Odd that there is no mention of them as being stolen." Neal added. "I can understand pieces getting lost or taken back in 1917, but there should have been better security around the jewels between 1922 and 25."

"That has often been my thought exactly." Frost nodded. "The jewels have a fascinating history."

"Most do."

"Can I take the both of you out for dinner tonight?" Frost asked suddenly. "I would love to discuss the book, my co-workers are sick of hearing about it. This book was my pet project until it was stolen a few years back. I don't know New York at all so you'll have to pick the place."

"I'd love to, but...uh..." Neal looked to Peter.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry." Frost looked embarrassed. "You have some sort of restrictions on your movements. I forgot. Sorry, I...uh...I've never really met any ex-cons before, at least none that I know about. I don't know the rules."

"Well technically I'm not an ex-con."

"What?"

"I'm still serving my sentence so I'm just a plain 'convict' at the moment." Neal smiled.

"Amazingly enough that doesn't make this any less awkward." Frost shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Dinner has nothing to do with his convict status." Peter clarified. "Neal just assumes that the last thing that I would want to do is sit at a restaurant and listen to a Russian history lesson on diamonds."

"Am I wrong?" Neal asked defensively.

"No." Peter admitted.

"I suppose Mr. Caffrey and I could go alone, assuming that's okay, and...uh...safe?"

"It's fine, he doesn't bite." Peter assured.

"Excellent."

"But you should probably keep a close eye on your wallet." Peter warned.

Frost gave Neal an apprehensive look.

"He's kidding." Neal assured.

"I'm really not." Peter corrected.

Frost didn't seem to know how to respond. Neal made a suggestion for a near by restaurant to meet at later and Frost agreed. After shaking hands with both of them again Frost turned to leave.

"Dr. Frost?" Peter called.

"Yes?"

"The book needs to stay with me for now."

"Oh," Frost smiled sheepishly "right, sorry."

Frost turned back and hesitantly offered the book to Peter. Looking like a parent who was leaving his child with a babysitter for the first time Frost flashed Neal one last smile before leaving. Neal watched Frost leave and decided that if his limp was an act it was a really good one, his heel struck the with the same weakness with each step. Peter and Neal had planed together how to act when Frost arrived and they had agreed that the best approach was to pretend as though they didn't recognize him or suspect him of anything. In truth they had spend a good hour researching him on line after they'd been told he was coming. With everything that had happened lately they were highly suspicious of a stranger inviting himself into their case.

To his credit Dr. Devon Frost had a spot on the USGS employee page, along with several published works under his name. However after being fooled several times recently neither Peter nor Neal were ready to accept anything at face value. Learning that he had a prosthetic eye was a bit of a surprise, but it didn't really change anything. Neal continued to watch Frost as he waited for the elevator, he kept tugging on his suit as though he wasn't used to wearing it.

"So, what do you think?" Neal asked Peter.

"I don't know, he's almost a little too friendly."

"Well," Neal smiled brightly "he is a 'fan'."

"You don't need fans, the last thing you need is more encouragement."

"In any case, even if he is exactly who he says he is I'm still not ready to trust him."

"My thoughts exactly." Peter agreed.

"So what's the play?"

"You go to dinner...I'll watch your back."

"Sounds like a plan."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter Thirty

"Ready for your hot date with Caffrey?" Bryant mocked.

"Almost." Frost replied not taking the bait as he finished up with his tie. "I hate this suit, it doesn't fit anywhere."

"That's kinda the point of it, but I agree you do look ridiculous."

"Particularly compared to Caffrey, it's embarrassing. Say what you will about him, the man knows how to dress."

"I'm starting to worry about you." Bryant said seriously.

"Don't ask, don't tell." Frost chuckled.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about. In fact I'd be more comfortable with this whole situation if you were gay, at least then I could understand your fascination with Caffrey. But I know this isn't sexual, so what the hell are you doing with him?"

"I'm just working an asset." Frost shrugged as he undid and then started to redo his tie. "In case you forgot that happens to be our job."

"Lowell might believe that bullshit from you, although I doubt that he does, but I'm not falling for it for a second. What do you really want?"

"I want Caffrey to find those Russian Royal jewels for me."

"It's more than that, I know it is." Bryant insisted. "Come on, man, talk to me."

"The less you know right now the better. Just trust me."

"Speaking of 'trust' you know that Caffrey trusts you about as far as my grandmother can spit up wind in a gale without her teeth, right?"

"Thank you for the disturbing imagery." Frost wrinkled his nose. "Besides, I don't want him to trust me. I want him and Burke to band together against me."

"That is the worst idea you have ever had."

"The worst idea I ever had involved a trip to Afghanistan." Frost growled bitterly.

"Don't change the subject."

"Drop it, Bryant, are you going to be my wingman tonight or not?" Frost demanded.

"You know I always have your back." Bryant sighed in defeat.

"Good man."

"So where is dinner?" Bryant asked.

"Per Se."

"Oh you have got to be kidding me..."

"Caffrey has expensive taste."

"There is the understatement of the century."

Frost arrived ten minutes early to the seven o'clock reservation at the exclusive restaurant. He was shown by the hostess to a small table next to a large window that looked out over the Columbus Circle with the tree tops of Central Park behind it and the outline of the New York city sky line sparkling in the distance. He was asked if he wanted to see a liquor list but just asked them to bring a glass of water while he waited.

'Is it spectacular?' Bryant's voice asked in his ear piece.

"It really is." Frost replied. "This place is too small for Burke to hide here, even on my blind side, I'm willing to bet he'll be communicating with Caffrey through an ear piece as well."

'I'm actually almost tapped into his signal, want me to patch it through to you?'

"Yeah."

'Be careful up there, Neal.'

'I don't think Frost has come to cause trouble.' Neal replied. 'If whoever these people are wanted either one of us dead we would be. Besides for all we know he really is from the USGS.'

'Doubtful. Just find out what he wants.'

'I think I already know what he wants.'

'Care to share?'

'He wants my help finding the Romanov treasure.'

'He's on to you.' Bryant warned.

"Of course he is, he's not an idiot." Frost pointed out.

'Treasure?' Peter repeated. 'Why go to all this trouble? Why not just call you up and say 'hey, I've got a secret map to undiscovered treasure, want in on it?'. You would have gone for that.'

'I probably would have, of course then they'd have to risk me stealing it myself.' Neal chuckled.

'He hit the nail on the head with that observation as well.' Bryant said. 'Honestly, Frost, I think we need to scrub this whole thing. We failed at conning him the first time, this isn't going any better.'

"Just trust me." Frost smiled. "If he wasn't good I wouldn't want him."

'Want him? Wait, damn it Frost you can't for one second believe that you can make Caff...'

'I'm at the restaurant,' Neal announced to Peter interrupting Bryant 'see you after dessert.'

'Bring me something, I'm starving to death with El out of town.'

'I bet.' Neal mocked.

'This is never going to work.' Bryant muttered bitterly.

"Trust me."

'Only because I have no choice.' Bryant said. 'I'm turning off Caffrey's audio so we don't get any interference when he gets closer. I'll keep Burke in your ear.'

"Copy that." Frost said. "And this is going to work just fine. Even when Caffrey smells a trap he can't resist good bait."

'I hope you're right.'

"Doctor Frost." Neal greeted as he approached being lead by the same hostess.

"Please, just 'Frost'." He corrected as he got to his feet and offered Neal his hand to shake once again.

"Not 'Devon' then?" Neal asked as shook Frost's hand before sitting down.

"Only my momma ever really called me 'Devon'." Frost explained as he sat back down. "Do you prefer 'Neal' or 'Caffrey'?"

"I tend to find that friends call me 'Neal', people who mostly just tolerate me use 'Caffrey'."

'I've been using your name wrong for years.' Peter's voice broke into the conversation.

"Neal it is then." Frost chuckled at the pair.

Now that they were both seated the waitress came over with another offer for drinks. Neal automatically ordered a wine for them both. Frost wasn't much of a wine drinker and he found the more expensive the wine the less he liked it. He would rather have a beer or if he had to have wine the boxed stuff had a good sweet taste to it. The wine Neal chose was painfully dry, but Frost didn't bother complaining. The wine was quickly followed by a small dish that appeared to be some sort of white tapioca and oysters that looked far too raw to be eaten. Neal watched Frost poke a fork at the pale oyster.

"I'm sorry, you're not vegetarian are you?" Neal asked.

"No, but I am used to more heat being applied to my seafood." Frost admitted. "Is there a reason why we don't have menus?"

"That's only over on the Salon side of the restaurant. Over here it's Chef's Taste, nine course meal, no single ingredient is repeated through out the night. I thought it fitting since tonight is featuring Russian Tzar Caviar."

"Right...uh...I think this place is a little outside my pay grade." Frost chuckled nervously keeping with his 'Doctor Frost' character.

"Oh, don't worry about that." Neal reached into his jacket and pulled out a Federal issue black credit card with Peter's name on it. "The FBI has tonight covered."

"Agent Burke gave you his card?"

"Not exactly."

'Damn it, Neal.' Peter growled. 'What is this going to cost me?'

"Have you ever seen a thousand dollar restaurant tab before?" Neal asked Frost and Peter at the same time.

"Can't say that I have." Frost chuckled.

'I'm going to *kill* you.' Peter said seriously.

"It's not just food, it's an experience." Neal explained. "I figured if you're only in New York one night we should make it special."

"I'm in no hurry to get back to Colorado, my favorite book is right here."

"It's going to be a while before you can get it back I'm afraid. Once something is evidence the amount of red tape that surrounds it is unbelievable."

"You've certainly taken an interest in it."

"It's a rare find." Neal said casually. "Do you think the missing pieces will ever be recovered?"

"I certainly hope so."

Frost decided that he should try the oyster dish that had been brought out. He was pleasantly surprised by the taste, but the texture was not exactly a pleasant one. Neal did seem to mind either as he sampled it as well. The midnight black Russian Caviar that was presented next was simply spectacular. Usually caviar was much too salty for Frost's taste, but this was more nutty with a very rich smoked flavor. A grapefruit sorbet pallet cleanser was served to remove any hints of fishy aftertaste. It took Peter's voice buzzing in his ear for Frost to even notice that a somewhat comfortable silence had fallen between them.

'I hope you're enjoying that meal, Neal, because it's your last.' Peter threatened.

'Are you two just staring at each other or what?' Bryant complained. 'Say something.'

"Can I tell you a secret?" Frost asked seriously.

'Not that!' Bryant protested.

"You can, but I'm not sure that I'd advise it." Neal teased.

"The Romanov time period is kind of a passion of mine, and I think that there is a lot more to be found than just those four pieces, I think that there is a large stash of Romanov treasure and that the front page of 1922 Diamond Fund is the code to finding it. I just can't figure out the key."

'Christ, Frost,' Bryant said exasperated 'why don't you just open your purse and dump the whole thing out on the table?'

'He's not being very subtle is he?' Peter echoed Bryant's thoughts.

"A key..." Neal repeated thoughtfully.

Frost found himself holding his breath as he watched Neal thinking. It was obvious that he had made some connection in his mind. Frost had made a general connection between the four Faberge Eggs and the front page of the book, but a 'general connection' was as far as he or any of the others had ever made it. He had planted the eggs along with the book on Fisher in hopes that Neal could look at it with fresh eyes and click in the last part of the puzzle together. He never expected Neal to come up with something so quickly, but the far away look in his eyes told Frost that he had. The waitress arrived with the next course of spectacularly presented duck foie gras but neither Frost nor Neal even looked at it.

'I don't like it when you go silent, Neal.' Peter sighed. 'It means you're thinking, and that always leads to trouble.'

'Caffrey's on to something isn't he?' Bryant asked sounding annoyed.

"Neal?" Frost asked to bring Neal's attention back to real world.

"What do you know about Faberge Eggs?" Neal asked suddenly.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-one

"Hand it over, now."

"Peter..."

"Now."

Neal put his hands up in surrender before reaching into his jacket and retrieving Peter's Federal credit card. Peter snatched the card away from him and inspected it closely before securing it back in his wallet. He shot Neal a sour look, Neal flashed him an innocent smile in return.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist after what you said to Frost about needing to protect his wallet."

"Get in the car." Peter ordered. "I'm taking you back to prison."

"Relax, Peter, dinner was on the house." Neal chuckled.

"What?"

"I know the chef at Per Se." Neal explained.

"Of course you do."

"And he owed me a favor."

"Of course he did." Peter rolled his eyes.

"Peter, you should have had that figured out at the very beginning." Neal chuckled. "You don't just get a table at Per Se last minute without some serious connections."

"I'm still well within my rights to send you back to prison." Peter pointed out in an empty threat.

"I wanted to show Frost that I'm still willing to bend the rules. I figured it would help him open up to me, and it seemed to work. The man knows a lot about Faberge Eggs."

Peter was forced to agree as he went around the car to get into the driver's side. It was getting late, Neal and Frost's nine course dinner and conversation had lasted nearly four hours. Once the pair got to talking art they completely lost track of time. At one point Neal had slipped into speaking Russian and Frost didn't miss a beat, easily keeping up with Neal's Russian and return it fluently. Peter started worried about Neal's objectivity as he drove them towards Neal's apartment. Neal was talking at a hundred miles an hour in his excitement over the possible connection between the eggs and the book. Arriving at June's Neal was still chattering about the grandeur of the Romanovs and smiling brightly. In some respects Peter was glad to have the 'old' Neal back, but at the same time that version of Neal was reckless and prone to making decisions with his heart rather than his head.

"...just imagine if there is a connection between the eggs and the book, that could mean that there may be a lot more to be found than just the four missing pieces that are documented."

"Neal, slow down." Peter suggested. "Remember how this is all probably part of some sort of trap?"

"But the bait is so good." Neal grinned. "Besides I don't think Frost is looking to kill me."

"The same was probably true of Rachel in the beginning."

Peter's words instantly sobered Neal. He took a breath to apologize, but it was too late, Neal was already getting out of the car. Sighing heavily Peter got out of the car as well and followed Neal upstairs. Inside the apartment Neal paced around with his previous excitement now turned to agitated nervous energy. Neal had reacted poorly to Rachel's name in the past, but it was far worse this time. Peter cursed himself when he noticed Neal reach up to press his palm briefly against his shoulder.

"Neal..."

"Are you planing on staying here tonight?" Neal interrupted.

"I thought that I would."

"You need to go home at some point, you can't keep an eye on me every second."

"I know." Peter agreed.

"Then go."

"I don't think that's a good idea. Not while you're all hot to trot over some lost Russian gold..."

"Diamonds." Neal corrected.

"Whatever. I don't trust Frost or any of his information."

"I don't trust Frost either." Neal said firmly. "I just...I don't know...He's..."

"A lot like you." Peter finished for Neal.

Neal just nodded. Looking heavy hearted he turned and walked off towards the back room. Giving Neal some space Peter wandered into the kitchen since he hadn't had a chance to eat tonight. Peter hadn't dared to point out that if Frost was behind the book then he was probably at least in part behind everything that had happened with Rachel. He felt it had to be the same group that had sent Neal after the diamond that was doing it again.

"And why not?" Peter muttered to himself. "It worked the first time."

Retreating into the bathroom Neal pressed his hand against his shoulder and growled in pain. He had felt fine until Peter had mentioned Rebecca. It frustrated him that he couldn't even hear her name without relapsing. Closing his eyes Neal tried to sort through his jumbled memories that were becoming less clear with time. Usually it was the ambiguity of fading memories that helped heal wounds, but in this case it just made things worse.

Neal had dealt with pain for months, but right now it simply had him worn down to the point where he didn't even want to try and cope with it. Recalling the handful of percocet that he'd pocketed the day before Neal opened the mirrored medicine cabinet. He pulled out the aspirin container that he'd hidden the narcotic in and shook all eight of them out into his palm.

Reaching up he closed the medicine cabinet and suddenly found his reflection staring back at him. Despite his condition he hadn't been expecting to see such a wild and anxious expression in his own eyes. For a brief second he hadn't even recognized himself, which was a frightening prospect. He looked down at the pain killers in his hand and thought back to all the nights he'd spent over the past few months drugged out of his misery but also out of his mind.

"No...it never helped."

Turning on the hot water in the sink Neal let it run over his hand. He watched the pills dissolve in the water and swirl down the drain. He didn't want drugs dragging him down or pain holding him back anymore, and there was only one way to avoid both. Drying his hands off Neal walked back out into the main living room. Peter was sitting at the kitchen table picking at some leftovers with out much appetite. Peter looked up at Neal with a concerned expression as Neal sat across from him.

"Can we talk?"

"Always." Peter answered simply.

"Rebecca...Rachel," Neal corrected himself "she may or may not have been about to shoot me, I'm not sure anymore...but either way...she...she smiled."

"Smiled?" Peter repeated confused.

"When she saw that I was hit, when she saw that I was in pain, that I was dying...she smiled, a look of triumph just before the light left her eyes, it didn't last long but it was there. I have trouble remembering the other details, but that is burned in my mind. I don't even think she cared that she was bleeding out, she was just glad to see that I was joining her."

Peter wasn't sure how to respond so he just listened. Neal appreciated his silence, he didn't need to be told that Rachel was psychotic, he knew that already and yet it didn't seem to make her betrayal hurt any less.

"All I've ever wanted was to find someone who loved me as deeply as I loved them. The thought that I found that person and that she ended up wanting me dead...it keeps me up at night. I've been trying to tell myself, trying to tell you, that she would never hurt me, but that lie is just causing me more pain." Neal admitted. "But in the end what hurts more than anything else, more than having come so close to finding what I've been looking for, is the fear that I won't have the heart to try again."

Having come clean Neal didn't feel better the way he'd hoped he would. If anything it had just made him feel sick to his stomach. Peter watched him silently for a moment. Neal knew that Peter needed time to think things over before reacting at times so he didn't press him for a reaction. Eventually Peter leaned back slightly, subconsciously opening his body language, a tell tale sign that whatever he was going to say next for better or for worse was going to be the truth.

"This is going to sound terrible when I say it," Peter finally spoke "so please give me a chance to explain."

"Um...okay..." Neal said warily.

"You have never learned from your mistakes in the past."

"You're right, that sounds terrible."

"I know, but I have a point and that is that you have an amazing capacity for optimism, beyond anything I've ever seen." Peter said honestly. "It is at times an irritating quality, but it's an admirable one as well. I have every confidence that this wound will heal and that you'll still be open to the idea of love when it finds you. In fact I don't think you'll be able to resist trying again even if you want to."

Even though he wasn't so sure about Peter's prediction Neal found a great deal of comfort in the conviction in his voice when he said it. After a deep breath Neal did find that he felt better. He stretched out his shoulder, which was still sore but not really bothersome anymore. Peter was holding his breath, the conversation had clearly been difficult for him, but he had handled it well. Neal managed to smile which helped Peter relax again.

"Now to the other problem at hand." Neal changed the subject for both their sakes. "What do we do about Frost and the Diamond Fund?"

"I couldn't care less if that Russian treasure remains lost forever, but I would like figure out exactly who is behind all of this and stop them from continuing to jerk you around where and whenever they feel like it. However, if you don't want to play Frost's game I can fully understand. There is a chance that if you don't bite on the book they will lose interest in you."

"I'm sure they will push harder at first, but you might be right."

"I'll support you either way."

"I want to play, I really do. I just worry about you getting caught in the middle of it."

"It's too late to worry about that, I'm already in." Peter said seriously. "Besides when it comes to 'us vs them' we have an excellent track record."

"Practically perfect."


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-two

"How are you feeling?"

"Good, but I'm getting really tired of hearing that question."

"And I'm fairly tired of having to ask it, but here we are." Peter admitted. "No withdrawal symptoms?"

"None." Neal assured. "It's been a good forty-eight hours since I had anything. I'm in the clear."

"Forty-eight? It should be less than twenty-four...damn it, Neal." Peter growled when he figured out what Neal had done. "You were pocketing them."

"I did."

"Where are they now?"

"I washed them down the sink. I promise."

"And you wonder why we still have trust issues." Peter sighed heavily. "Neal, you could have had another seizure just stopping like that."

"No, I was past that kind of severe of withdrawal already. Besides the doctor said my original seizures probably weren't from the percocet withdrawal but rather another symptom of the conversion disorder."

"Right...the doctor who broke into the hospital and held you at drugged needle point." Peter rolled his eyes. "You know I'm a little insulted that you trust him more than me."

"Don't be jealous, Peter, you'll always be my first."

"You are just impossible to talk to."

"I know." Neal smiled.

"Let's just get to the office and figure out what we are going to do about Frost."

"We need to stop at the butcher shop first."

"We do?" Peter asked confused.

"We do."

Neal didn't explain further making Peter less than cooperative with making the odd pit stop. However eventually Peter agreed to stop the car along the way in front of the local meat shop to let Neal out while he waited in the car. Mozzie was waiting for Neal outside and after a brief exchange of words Mozzie handed over what looked like a camera bag. Neal stepped inside the butcher and came out moments later with a white plastic bag with something inside. Neal got back in the car and placed the bag Mozzie had given him on the floor and the plastic bag in his lap. Peter peeked inside the open bag and spotted a small clear deli cup with a thick dark red liquid sloshing around inside.

"What is that?" Peter asked fearing the answer.

"Blood, cow I think."

"Gross. Please tell me that isn't your lunch. This isn't a gluten free thing is it?"

"Don't worry. I'm not going to drink it."

"Why do you have it? You think Frost is a vampire?"

"No." Neal chuckled. "You'll see."

"I hate it when you say that."

"Trust me."

"That doesn't make me feel any better, if anything it makes it worse."

Neal just flashed Peter a look of practiced innocence. Peter tried to tell himself that having the carefree Neal back was better than the morose one, but he was starting to wonder if that was actually true. Neal didn't explain any further about the blood or the bag that Mozzie had dropped off as they drove the rest of the way to the office. Neal already had plans to meet Frost for lunch, but that left him and Peter the morning to study the eggs and the book. They got to the office and went straight to the floor with the evidence room.

"Neal, you don't think I'm letting you into the evidence room with that blood do you?"

"I was kind of counting on it."

"Neal..."

"Peter, it's going to be okay, I'm not going to leave a single drop behind. I swear."

"What is this even all about?"

"I need to see those scratches."

"In blood?"

"Sort of." Neal replied mysteriously. "It is this or ink, and unlike the ink the blood will wash off."

"I still don't see how this is going to work."

"Tru..."

"Stop saying 'trust me', it's making me nervous."

"Well?"

"Fine." Peter sighed in defeat.

"You're going to be so impressed by this. I had the thought at dinner, that was an amazingly rare steak, which really is the only way to ser..."

"Let's just get this done." Peter interrupted.

"After you."

Peter hesitated before he signed them into the evidence room. Neal set the camera bag and the plastic deli bag on the working table before going over to the box that held the eggs. He brought out the Alexander egg first and handed it to Peter to hold onto while set everything up. The bag held a small digital camera along with a tripod that held the camera facing straight down so that you could place an object under it and take a picture. It also had a large piece of felt to bunch up to hold the egg in place along with a bottle of clear liquid, and a small spray bottle also with a clear liquid.

Neal reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a paint brush with a flat sable end about a quarter inch wide. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out half a dozen or so folded paper towels. He laid everything out before very carefully opening the container of blood. With everything all set he turned back to Peter and held his hand out for the egg.

"I shouldn't be allowing this." Peter said.

"You want to find what Frost is after then this is the first step. I assume you want Elizabeth to be able to come back to New York at some point."

Peter narrowed his eyes slightly at Neal playing off his weakness, but he handed over the egg. Neal sat in the folding chair that was in front of the work desk and carefully opened the egg. Peter swore under his breath as Neal dipped the brush into the blood and began to paint a fine layer of the gore into the enamel lining of the top half of the large egg. Once he had a coat on the enamel he gently blew on it to help it dry. He had Peter hold the egg again while he soaked one of the paper towels in the liquid from the bottle.

"What is that?" Peter asked.

"Just water, nothing that will harm the egg."

Neal took the egg back and used the wet paper towel to clean out all the blood he'd just transferred to it. Taking great care he made sure that the inside of the egg was spotless. When he was satisfied that it was clean he pursed his lips and gently blew across the surface again to help it dry.

"Neal, this is insane, what the hell are you doing?"

"Blood is amazingly difficult to actually clean out of a porous surface, particularly a scratched surface. You can make it look clean to the naked eye, but it leaves a residue."

"Great. So?"

"So..."

Neal picked up the sprits bottle and sprayed a fine mist into the egg.

"Turn off the lights." Neal requested.

"Neal if that's Luminol it's only going to last a few seconds."

"It's better than Luminol, it's Hemascein. It glows brighter and last up to ten minutes."

Peter went over and turned off the lights causing the inside of the egg to jump to life. Unlike the soft blue given off by Luminol this compound gave off an eerie green. Neal placed the egg carefully under the camera and took a few pictures with an extended exposure time to make sure they came through clear. With his eyes adjusting to the dark Peter stepped over and peered down into the glowing egg. The apex of the egg had a circle inscribed around it with lines that radiated out from it, the lines came off the circle at various angles and intersected with one another in places, but they didn't seem to form any kind of pattern.

"They are just lines." Peter pointed out.

"They are the key to the code..."


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-three

"So where are you two love birds meeting this time?"

"Oceana."

"I hate you."

"Jealousy is not attractive on you, Bryant." Frost chuckled.

"How can I not be jealous of a...how did you put it again? 'A steak so tender it dissolves in your mouth like cotton candy'." Bryant huffed. "Meanwhile I was stuck on watch duty with a box of 'Chicken in a Biskit' crackers and a Coke Zero."

"That Coke was mine."

"Suck it."

Frost chuckled at his petulant partner as they walked towards the car. He knew the real reason Bryant was getting irritated was that he knew Frost was up to something and not telling him. Bryant hated being out of the loop and Frost hated to put him there, but in this case it was for the best. Frost wanted to make sure that if things went South that he'd be able to take most if not all of the blame. After a short and mostly silent drive Frost had Bryant park a block away from the restaurant.

"Uh..." Bryant gave Frost an uneasy look.

"You're not going to talk me out of this, Bryant."

"It's not that, I've already come to that conclusion. It's your eye...it's not straight."

"I hate this thing." Frost muttered as he pulled down the visor to use the mirror on it to correct the prosthetic eye. "How's that?"

"Much better." Bryant gave him a nod of approval.

Frost got out of the car and Bryant pulled his backpack out of the back seat and placed it in the passenger seat. The backpack had a variety of tech for tracing, tapping, and general surveillance. Most of which he could run directly off his phone so he didn't look suspicious playing with it. The FBI's van full of equipment from the eighties was more due to budget constraints than lack of better technology actually being available.

Frost arrived early again, but this time Neal had beat him to the restaurant. He'd been there long enough for water to have been delivered to the table and for most of the ice to be melted away. Neal spotted Frost and waved him over with a smile. Frost walked over with a slight limp and sat down. Several surgeries had done a good job at reducing the pain that used to lance up his leg with each step, but the various plates had permanently reduced the flexibility in his step causing the awkward gait. Neal got to his feet as Frost approached, just like any good etiquette school would have taught him.

'Frost, I'm tapped into Burke's signal.' Bryant announced in his ear. 'He's only receiving not transmitting, so he's just listening.'

"Afternoon, Neal." Frost greeted as he shook Neal's hand.

"Good to see you again, Frost. Did you get some sight seeing in this morning?"

"I wandered Central Park, it's beautiful."

"You should see it in the fall, it's unreal."

"I bet." Frost nodded as they both sat down. 'So what's good here?'

'It's a good thing this isn't a date, you suck at small talk.' Bryant mocked.

"After the morning I had I'm going vegetarian for the day, maybe the whole week." Neal chuckled.

"What?"

Neal freely explained about using blood to reveal a set of geometric scratches that he found in three out of the four eggs that were in evidence. There was no definable pattern to the lines, and each egg was slightly different although all of them had a circle that the lines radiated off of. Frost shook his head sadly in disbelief, his team had studied two of those eggs for weeks and although they had noticed some 'damage' to the inner lining of one of them it never occurred to anyone that it might be important.

'What made him even think to use blood?' Bryant ask rhetorically. 'That's just disgusting.'

"Any idea what the lines might mean?" Frost asked, truly interested.

"None." Neal sighed. "What can you tell me about the book?"

"It was out of the George F. Kunz collection. He was a native to New York City. He was a 'gentleman scientist' and a renowned gemologist of the early 1900's. He spent a good deal of his career as a gem expert for Tiffany & Co. He also curated at the American Museum of Natural History here in New York. He had a library of several thousand rare books on gems and gemology which were sold to the USGS for a dollar."

"Do you think he would have stolen the four missing pieces?"

"I highly doubt it. He once spoke on gem collecting and stated that the he'd rather posses the experience, adventure, and friendship gained in his travels than the actual gems themselves." Frost replied. "Besides I don't think he was actually the author of the book, I think he just collected it. He probably was never anywhere near the Russian Jewels in 1922."

"I hadn't thought of that. Since the text looks homemade I assumed it was his personal album." Neal furrowed his brow. "I've been trying to connect him to the eggs as well as the book and not really being able to come up with anything since he shouldn't have had access to the eggs. Of course the best explanation for there being no connection is that fact that there isn't one. Whoever the author was could have had access to the eggs and the jewels. That changes things."

"Glad I could he..."

Frost paused as the the distinct sound of metal being tapped against glass rung in his ear through the ear piece.

'FBI, step out of the car.'

'Damn it...' Bryant hissed. 'Your boy's handler snuck up on me.'

'FBI.' Peter repeated. 'Hands where I can see them, step out of the car.'

'Wow, he looks really pissed.' Bryant noted seriously.

"Just do as he says." Frost told Bryant, not caring that Neal could hear him as well. "Remember to ask for a lawyer."

'How did he even find me?' Bryant grumbled. 'There is no way he traced my tech back to me.'

"He knows what you look like from the Fisher meet up." Frost pointed out. "He just walked around until he found you."

'Oh, right. Frost if you set this up, I'm going to kill...'

'Last chance.' Peter said firmly.

'You had better post my bail.' Bryant said sourly as he opened the car door. 'Agent Burke, good to see you again.'

'I'm sure it is. Let's go.'

The rest of the audio trailed off as Peter arrested Bryant and led him away. Frost turned his attention away from Bryant and back to Neal. Far from the friendly open smile he'd worn before Neal was staring at him coldly now. Their waitress had been about to step up to the table, but even she saw the change in energy between the two men and she had backed away.

Frost flashed Neal a sad smile before he tilted his head to the side and pulled out the small ear piece that he was wearing. Dropping the ear piece in his water glass Frost undid the buckle on his transmitting watch and added it to the glass as well. Neal watched him silently before bringing up his own wrist and pulling the heavy watch he was wearing off. Neal dropped his watch in his own water. The listening devices were waterproof, but being underwater would keep them from being able to record properly.

"That was a bold move." Frost broke the silence.

"Peter and I are a little sick of being your errand boys." Neal growled. "You haven't been particularly subtle so bold seemed like the way to go."

"I tried 'subtle' before." Frost admitted. "It didn't work out so well. I broke your heart and got you shot."

Neal narrowed his eyes at Frost in an icy glare. Frost knew that physical confrontation wasn't traditionally Neal's first reaction, but he wouldn't be surprised if Neal lashed out at and struck him right now. Neal clenched his fist but he didn't make any aggressive moves.

"You also got a good Agent murdered."

"I know." Frost sighed heavily. "I never meant for any of that to happen. Believe me when I tell you I've lost a lot of sleep over it. And for what little it's worth: I'm sorry."

"You want my forgiveness?"

"Of course I want it, but I don't expect it. I don't even deserve it."

"Then what do you want? This can't all be for lost treasure."

"Yes and no. The first set up was very much all about that cursed rock."

"Why?"

"There are things that lost historical treasures can buy that no amount of cash can get you." Frost explained.

"Like the India/Pakistan boarder?"

"Exactly." Frost confirmed.

"You're insane." Neal snarled. "What exactly do you plan to 'buy' with Romanov treasure?"

"That's where the 'no' part comes in to the 'yes and no'. It would be great to get a hold of the missing Romanov pieces, but that's not why I put you on the case."

"Why then? What do you gain from messing with my life again?"

"I didn't do it for me, I did it for you. I wanted to help you, but I needed a damn good excuse to get within a thousand miles of you after what happened last time."

"Help me?"

"Having you slowly spiral downwards from pain and drugs has not been my proudest accomplishment." Frost said seriously. "Agent Siegel was already dead, there was nothing I could do to change that. You were heading towards self destruction and that was something I could change...and haven't I?"

Neal didn't answer, but Frost didn't really expect him to or even need him to. He had heard Neal and Peter talking the night before and he was satisfied that Neal had been successfully pulled out of the nose dive he'd been in. Mozzie had torn the apartment apart for listening devices, but he hadn't thought to check the patio, the device worked by bouncing a laser off the glass on the doors.

Frost waited for Neal's reaction patiently. From what he was seeing it looked like Neal didn't really know what his reaction should be either. Frost was curious to see if Neal's famous curiosity would win out over his anger, he wouldn't be surprised either way. Pushing himself away from the table Neal got to his feet.

"Neal..."

"Stay away from me. Stay away from Peter."

Neal went to reach into the glass to retrieve the expensive FBI watch. Frost leaned forward and put his hand over the glass to stop him. Neal jerked his hand back as though Frost was a venomous snake.

"Is that it? You're leaving?" Frost asked with a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Don't you want to know more about me? Who I work for?"

"Why would you tell me anything other than lies?"

"You make a good point. And you're right I'm not authorized to tell you anything. Hell, my boss would have my ass if he knew I'd told you as much as I have." Frost said as picked up the glass and offered it to Neal. "However, if you pass this latest test, if you find the Romanov treasure I'll not only be able to tell you everything, I'll also be able to offer you the one thing you want more than anything: freedom."

Neal didn't say anything, but he didn't leave either.

"I got that anklet off you, walk away now and I'll have it back on within the hour."

"That's fine." Neal shrugged. "I've only got a year left."

"Neal, we both know that isn't true. The FBI is never going to let you go, even if they did they would watch you like a hawk and lets be honest with ourselves how long would it really be before they had a valid excuse to bring you right back to where you are now? I can protect you from all that."

"At a price?" Neal snarled.

"Nothing is for free, but you'll love the 'cost'. I promise you that." Frost smiled. "You don't have to trust me yet. Find the treasure, hear my offer, and we'll take it from there. Either way you can walk away when all is said and done."

Neal stood silently contemplating the offer. Frost held his breath, he had been good at predicting how Neal would react to obstacles placed in his path in the past, but he'd never been the obstacle before. Even if Neal stormed off he'd at least know that he'd done all he could for him, but it would be a disappointment.

"Just how connected are you?" Neal asked suddenly.

"If you wanted to talk to the President tonight I could make that happen."

"You're kidding."

"I am, but it sounded good." Frost smiled. "What do you need?"

"...Security codes to the American Museum of History."


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter Thirty-four

"...and he just told you all of this?" Peter asked distrustfully.

"I think he was expecting you to haul his partner in for questioning so that he and I could talk without him listening."

"Speaking of which the audio at my end got garbled there as well. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that?"

"Me?" Neal asked innocently. "Must have been a glitch, that watch is a few years old."

"Just after I took 'Ryan' away the audio distorts...like it had been dropped in a glass of water."

Neal beamed a smile at Peter that told him that he had gotten as much of the truth as he was going to get today. They were currently standing in the observation room on the far side of the one way mirror into the interview room where Bryant was looking bored. To his credit Neal had told Peter most of everything that Frost had told him about his involvement with Rachel along with his recent attempts to help Neal by using the Romanov as an excuse to get closer. All he had really left out was Frost's offer to tell him more if he got the Romanov jewels for him.

"I don't suppose he told you just who he was working for? I assume you're not just a private pet project of his."

"He didn't say outright, but I got the feel of CIA, possibly military."

"Making all of this a government conspiracy?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"It sounds silly when you say it. We should get Mozzie in here, he'll make it sound believable."

"And now that you're feeling better Frost is just done with you?"

"No, but I'm done with him."

"And he's okay with that?"

"He seemed genuinely remorseful for everything that had happened. He felt responsible for my recent downward spiral."

"He was. I'm just not so quick to believe in his altruism."

"I don't know what to say." Neal shrugged. "Even if he did want more from me, I don't even have all the pieces I need for the Romanov puzzle. There is at least one other set of lines, maybe more needed to even start to complete a pattern. Since Faberge eggs are spread out all over the world, and a handful are still missing, I don't really have any good way to solve this."

"Did you tell Frost that? He seems to be a man who gets what he wants. I'm sure he'd hunt down what you needed, or better yet he'd probably just send you after it."

"I made it very clear I wasn't interested in having anything more to do with him. He almost got me kill, remember?"

Peter took a breath to say something, but whatever it was he thought better of it. Hoping to distract Peter from the conversation Neal turned his attention to Bryant. He had ID on him that identified him as Ryan Johnson, but there was no reason to believe that was actually his name. Unlike Frost who had a strong presence about him that left an impression, Bryant looked more like he could blend in at a low level office position or even possibly a frat house despite being in his mid-thirties. Neal didn't let appearances fool him, Bryant wouldn't be with Frost if he couldn't handle his own.

"Do you actually have anything to charge him with?" Neal asked.

"He annoys me."

"As much as you'd like it to be 'annoying a Federal Agent' is not a crime."

"If it was you'd be facing forty to life."

Neal chuckled as he continued to study Bryant. Frost's partner didn't look particularly concerned to be in FBI custody. To punctuate that fact he leaned his chair back on two legs as he put his feet up on the table. Peter made a small noise of irritation. Bryant looked over at the mirror and winked, knowing he was being watched and that his actions would piss Peter off.

"I'm going to shoot him." Peter said sounding serious.

"He saved your life." Neal pointed out.

"I don't care."

"You know, I'm starting to worry about your aggression levels lately, you punched Riley, you weren't exactly friendly with Fisher, you want to shoot 'Ryan' here."

"What's your point?"

"I think you need call Elizabeth and tell her to come back home. It's obvious you need..."

"Neal." Peter warned.

"Her." Neal smiled. "I was just going to say 'her'."

"I do miss her." Peter admitted.

"I honestly believe that there is no reason to keep her in exile. If these people wanted to involve her in any of this she wouldn't really be any safer in DC than here in New York."

"You're probably right."

"If you call now she could be home by dinner."

"You're just trying to keep me out of your apartment tonight."

"I really am." Neal agreed. "You snore."

Peter turned his attention to Bryant for a moment. Neal could see Peter mulling over his options, and not liking any of them. Peter clearly knew that he wasn't hearing the whole truth, but doing something about it was battle he didn't look like he wanted to fight at the moment. Neal was about to plead his case further but Peter gave in.

"Fine." Peter decided sounding like it was against his better judgment. "You just have to promise me that you're going to stay out of trouble."

"You miss my anklet, don't you?"

"I really do."

"Too bad." Neal mocked. "You need to trust me to take care of myself at some point, and I'm feeling better than I have in months."

"I still sleep better knowing you can only wreck havoc in two mile radius. In fact, if you're done with Frost does that mean he's going to get your conditional release that he made possible reversed?"

"He didn't say."

"I still don't like this. We can't just let Frost go, even if his recent actions were done in the spirit of 'righting the wrong' it's all criminal action and shows a disturbing amount of high level corruption of power."

"Going after Frost can't end well."

"It's my job."

"Even big fish steer clear of sharks." Neal pointed out. "Speaking of sharks, the lawyer is here...and look who it is."

"Damn it." Peter growled.

The same lawyer who had come to defend Fisher stepped into the room with Bryant. Taking his feet down off the table Bryant got up and greeted the lawyer with a hug. The fact that the lawyer easily returned the somewhat nontraditional greeting between lawyer and client told Neal that the pair had known each other for a long time. They exchanged a few quiet words and both of them laughed. The lawyer walked up to the one way mirror, although he was a few feet too far to the right to address them directly.

"Are you going to bother with any flimsy charges, Agent Burke, or can my client and I just go? Trust me when I say it's better for everyone to just let us leave, taxpayer money is spread thin enough as it is."

"Smug basta..." Peter reined in his temper. "I hate that I can't stop this."

"I'm sorry, Peter, I know you don't like to think of anyone as being above the law, but in this case I think they really are untoucha..."

"Don't talk like that." Peter interrupted sternly.

"Like what?"

"Like you admire them."

"I didn't say that."

"You were thinking it so hard that I could hear it."

Neal put his hands up in surrender. He knew how much it meant to Peter to believe that the law and the system was without failings. He still had never fully forgiven Neal for forging the testimony that kept him from getting indicted for murder. Nothing about that situation had been fair or right, but Neal had no doubt that Peter would let his blind faith in justice ruin him if he hadn't stepped in and done something. Neal had no regrets about it, he guessed that Peter still lost sleep over it now and again.

With no solid reason to hold Bryant they had to let him go. There was no crime in him arriving on the 33rd floor of the building where the Fisher meet had been. Although they could probably rustle up something involving illegal surveillance while he'd been sitting in his car the case would be paper thin since there was no hard evidence. Bryant had a backpack full of tech, but none of it was specifically illegal to own.

Neal followed Peter as he went around to the door side of the interview room. He didn't say anything, not trusting himself not to swear. He just opened the door and gestured for them to get out. The lawyer stepped out first. Bryant smiled somewhat apologetically at Peter before he quickly stepped past him. Bryant was about ten feet down the hall before he stopped and turned back to face the pair.

"Caffrey..." Bryant called but then hesitated to continue "qui s'y frotte s'y piqué."

Having said his peace Bryant and the lawyer left. Neal slipped his hands into his pockets and thought about Bryant's advice. Peter waited a minute for Neal to share before he broke down and asked.

"What did he say?"

"'He who rubs against it gets stung'." Neal translated.

"I'm sorry...what?" Peter asked. "Please tell me his French just really bad."

"It's a proverb, it speaks of rubbing against stinging nettle, a poisonous plant, which is never a good idea and should be avoided." Neal explained. "Basically 'don't get too close or you'll get hurt'."

"So a threat?"

"I think it's more of a friendly warning."


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations are in (parenthesis).

hapter Thirty-five

Alone in his apartment Neal had barely noticed the sun set over the city and the lights of New York begin to sparkle, which had been hours ago. Set up with an easel in the middle of his living room he was lost in his work. Unlike the frustration that had plagued him the last time he'd set brush to canvas this painting was coming to life as easily as wildflowers appear in Spring.

Neal didn't even hear the knock at his door as he worked some detail into the painting. Not one to stand on ceremony Mozzie just let himself in when he didn't get a response. Neal did hear the door open and briefly glanced over his shoulder to see who it was. He had been expecting Mozzie, but at the same time he wouldn't have been surprised if Frost had walked through the door. He had asked for security codes, but so far he hadn't heard anything back from Frost. Neal was going head to the History Museum tonight anyway, but he hoped to have the useful information to help before then. Mozzie walked over and inspected the painting Neal was working on.

"Very nice." Mozzie approved. "But why are you painting the Kandinsky?"

"Because I can."

"So your shoulder is just magically better?"

"It's not 'magic', Mozzie. I was helped."

"Helped?" Mozzie repeated skeptically. "By the same shadow organization that tricked you into stealing the egg in the first place?"

"They are out of the shadows now. For the most part."

With Peter basically watching his every move over the past few days Neal hadn't had much time to catch Mozzie up on what had happened over the past forty-eight hours. Mozzie's brow knit closer and closer together as he listened to the details about the scratches on the eggs as well as Frost and his mysterious offer for more information in exchange for the Russian jewels. Neal finished his story before briefly turning back to the painting for a moment to correct an area where two colors came together.

"So this is all a government conspiracy." Mozzie stated rather than asked.

"I thought it would sound better when you said it, but it really doesn't."

"That's because it's insane. Not so much the part about these guys going to extreme lengths to get what they want, but more the part where you're much too calm about it. You're not seriously considering getting these jewels for Frost are you?"

"I probably don't have much of a choice at this point. Frost made it sound like I could just walk away, but..."

"But he knows you won't." Mozzie finished.

"I was going to say that he's put too much work into me to just let me go."

"He's put enough work into you to make sure you won't 'just go'. Neal, you have to get away from this guy, he's worse that the Suit."

"You don't even know Frost."

"He sent a psychotic MI5 traitor to seduce you into fetching him a shiny rock. What more do I need to know?" Mozzie asked rhetorically. "He almost got you killed."

"And he could have left me as 'collateral damage'." Neal said defensively. "Instead he went to great lengths to help me recover. I honestly don't know what I would have done if I had never been able to paint again, let alone if I had to be in pain for years to come."

"You're talking as if this was some sort of selfless act on Frost's part."

"Écrire vos blessures dans le sable, la bonté en marbre." (Write your injuries in sand, and kindness in marble.)

"This goes way beyond 'injur..."

Mozzie was interrupted as Neal's cell phone chirped at him that he had a text. Neal rubbed the blue oil paint off his hand onto his cotton shirt before reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone. Neal smiled at the text from the 'unknown' sender. Mozzie reached out and tilted Neal's phone so that he could read the text which consisted of two sets of numbers.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Security codes for the American Museum of History. I had a feeling he could get these for me, I didn't really need them, but it will make things a lot easier."

"If he can turn off the alarms what does he need you for? Any half wit thief could break in with the alarm system down."

"Because it's not just a thief he's looking for."

"Looking for?" Mozzie questioned. "Neal, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?"

"I'm not sure yet, but whatever it is I think Frost wants to recruit me."

"What give you that impression? To me it looks like he just wants to use you."

"He called this Romanov hunt a 'test'."

"You know the Pink Panthers test their initiates." Mozzie mused.

"I highly doubt Frost is in the Pink Panthers." Neal shook his head. "With the kind of power he's displayed he's in something far more organized, something government or at the very least government sanctioned."

"All the more reason to run away. You're in bed with Big Brother enough as it is with Peter."

"Quite literally lately." Neal chuckled.

"I don't even want to know." Mozzie said seriously. "But Frost has just handed us a perfect opportunity. You've got the keys to the American History Museum of History, let's go get a few choice pieces and then go shake the lion's paw."

"Shake the lion's paw?"

"It means go to Canada, the Underground Railr..."

"Yeah, Mozzie, I know what it means." Neal interrupted. "I'm just questioning what makes you think I'd want to go to Canada. Things are just starting to get interesting around here."

"They have been plenty interesting. Frost is not to be trusted, I don't care what he's offering you. Le miel est doux, mais I'abeille pique." (Honey is sweet, but bees sting.)

"What is it with people worrying about me getting stung lately?"

"Because you are like a mouse sniffing cheese in a trap."

"If Frost wanted to hurt me he would have by now."

"Just because he's holding a carrot instead of a stick doesn't mean he isn't trying to control you."

"Mozzie, I'm not going into this blind." Neal said exasperated. "There is very little risk in looking for the Romanov treasure and the potential reward is huge. I just want to keep my options open."

"Isn't that just Neal Caffrey in a nut shell." Mozzie growled darkly.

"What?"

"You 'keeping your options open' cost me my retirement. Do you honestly need to be reminded that we were once sitting on enough art and treasure to buy a small country and that we lost it all because you couldn't pick a life style in time? None of what happened with Keller would have happened if you'd just fish or cut bait the moment we had that treasure."

"I'm sorry..."

"Don't be sorry, Neal, just figure out who you want to be before someone else gets hurt. "За двумя зайцами погонишься - ни одного не поймаешь" (If you chase two hares you'll catch none)

"Enough with the proverbs, Mozzie."

"What do you even want in the Museum of History?"

"They have a special exhibit at the moment on The Glided Age when the elite and super rich were basically covering everything in gold to show their social status. And of course the legendary jeweled eggs of Karl Faberge was a shining example of that age. They have the Napoleonic egg on loan from the Met. I think the last set of lines I need are inside that egg. In the book the image of the double headed eagle appears in one corner, the same eagle that's on one of the Napoleonic egg's facets."

"I still say you shouldn't take a single step in any direction Frost wants you to take. I know I sound like a broken record, and I've been saying this to you for years, but I still think you're foolish if you think you have a future with the FBI or any other Agency."

"I need to find a future somewhere." Neal said seriously. "And you're right, as much as I enjoy working with Peter I can't spend the rest of my life as a CI, but at the same time I can't imagine a life as a con man on the run for the rest of my days either. What if Frost has a better option?"

Mozzie just sighed heavily. Neal had hoped to have Mozzie's support about this since he knew he couldn't even approach Peter with the idea. He wasn't entirely sure he was doing the right thing and knowing at least one person was on his side would have helped. Knowing that there was no changing Neal's mind once it was made Mozzie turned to leave.

"Mozzie..."

"Be careful what you wish for, Neal, it just might get you."


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter Thirty-six

"I'll be home tomorrow evening."

"I can't wait." Peter replied seriously.

"You still sound stressed." Elizabeth noted. "I figured if you were giving me the green light to come home that you had everything sorted out."

"When have I ever had everything sorted out where Neal is concerned?"

"Good point." Elizabeth chuckled.

"However, I do honestly believe that there is no danger to you here. Frost is looking to court Neal into something that requires his full cooperation for. Frost is smart enough to know that threatening me or you isn't going to accomplish anything other than making an enemy out of Neal. His every move lately points towards him needing Neal to say yes to something and mean it. It goes beyond the jewels, but they are using this treasure hunt the way you lure a kid towards danger with candy."

"Do you think they'll hurt him if he just stops looking for the jewels?"

"I don't think so, but I can't say that for sure. However I think the chances of Neal actually walking away right now are incredibly low in the first place." Peter said with frustration. "I am doing everything in my power to steer him in the right direction, but he just seems determined to flirt with disaster."

"So...business as usual for you two?" Elizabeth teased.

"Pretty much."

"I know you want to save Neal from himself, but eventually you are going to have to trust him to make his own decisions and let him face the consequences alone."

"I know. It's just so difficult when every time I give him an inch he takes a mile."

"Does it help to hear that I'll love you whether or not you manage to 'fix' Neal?"

"It does."

"I love you."

"I love you too, Hon."

"I will see you tomorrow."

"Good night."

Peter reached out to the steering wheel of his car and pressed the small button that ended the call. He hated the fact that he felt the need to hold an unofficial stake out at Neal's apartment, but Peter's gut told him that Neal was going to be getting into trouble tonight. He'd been a little too interested on whether or not Elizabeth was going to make it home tonight, meaning he was fishing to see if Peter was going to be distracted. Peter had replied with a simple 'there's a good chance' to keep from outright lying.

It hadn't taken more than a few minutes with the internet to discover that there was another Faberge Egg that happened to currently be on display in New York. Peter might have been able to believe that Neal would drop the Romanov treasure for now if he was truly at a dead end. However with a tangible lead within his reach Peter couldn't imagine that Neal would leave that particular stone unturned.

"Right on cue." Peter sighed.

It was just past midnight and Neal had stepped out of his apartment wearing all black and carrying a small shoulder bag. Peter swore under his breath, he had really hoped that he was wrong and that Neal could be trusted off anklet for at least one night. Peter had parked a good distance away in between the area that was illuminated by two street lights to avoid being seen, but he was wondering if it would be best to honk the horn and get Neal's attention before he went off and got into trouble in the first place.

Watching Neal head off in the direction that would take him to Central Park where the American Museum of Natural History was Peter waited until he was out of sight before getting out of the car to follow him. There was no sense in revealing himself until he knew for sure what Neal was doing. Since Peter already had a good idea as to where Neal was headed he could afford to hang back far enough to easily keep from being seen. Making his way towards Central Park Neal never once looked back to make sure he wasn't being followed.

Neal's brazen attitude gave Peter pause, he really was acting like he was just out for a late night walk. Perhaps he was just continuing to have trouble sleeping and he didn't have any criminal intent. Just as Peter was starting to feel somewhat guilty for spying Neal suddenly became more alert about his surroundings. They were within half a mile of the museum and Neal was starting to take note of the cars that passed by and he looked back several times. It was late but there were still plenty of people out so Peter was able to blend in and stay out of sight.

Neal took one last look around before heading into the east entrance of the park. The museum was on the far side of the park from where Neal had entered. He would be more difficult to follow in the wooded park. Although Central Park was officially open another half hour, until one am, it was still mostly deserted at this time. Once again Peter thought about just calling out Neal's name and stopping whatever he was planing before it happened.

Knowing that Neal would just come up with some innocent excuse for heading into the park at the late hour Peter just continued to follow. He wanted to catch Neal at a point where he was clearly about to do something illegal but before he actually went so far as to commit any felonies. Hopefully it could lead to a conversation about the 'straight and narrow' that might actually sink in for once.

Peter was a little more than half way through the park with Neal a few hundred yards ahead. Neal was just about to step out into an open area in the path that would lead over to the museum so Peter hung back for a second to avoid being spotted. While he was waiting the sixth sense that lets you know when you're being watched began to bother Peter. Looking back he found Frost standing less than fifteen feet away. Peter had been so focused on following Neal that it hadn't even occurred to him that he might be being followed in return. Although irritated with himself for being careless Peter was impressed with how quietly Frost had managed to be while tailing him through the park.

"Nice night for it." Frost greeted with a bright smile that gleamed in contrast to his dark skin.

When Frost took a step closer Peter instantly drew his weapon from his shoulder harness. Widening his stance Peter silently made it clear that he was more than willing to shoot if Frost came any closer. Frost raised his hands up slightly but he didn't step back. Adrenaline washed into Peter's blood as he heard someone cocking a handgun behind him. Peter didn't need to look back to know it was Bryant who had flanked him. He realized that Frost and Bryant hadn't trailed him here, they had been waiting for him, knowing that he'd stop here to avoid being seen by Neal when he reached the more open area of the path. Training had caused him to choose this particular bend in the path, training that Frost was clearly aware of himself when he set the ambush.

"Please put your weapon away, Agent." Bryant requested politely.

"No."

"Agent..."

"It's okay, Bryant." Frost interrupted. "Agent Burke isn't going to shoot me as long as I don't give him reason to. There is no need for violence, I just want to talk."

"I don't talk to anyone when I'm being held at gun point."

"A little hypocritical of you," Frost smiled "but I can understand. Bryant, please, just give us a moment."

"Frost..." Bryant began to protest.

"Go keep an eye on Neal for us." Frost suggested. "I'll be okay."

There was a tense pause between Frost and Bryant. Peter risked taking his eye off Frost for a second to glance back at Bryant. Looking like he was going to be defiant Bryant still had his weapon trained on Peter. Bryant was at just enough of an angle to allow him to keep Peter in his sights without risk of hitting Frost, but at the same time making it impossible for Peter to easily move to cover them both. Sighing in defeat Bryant slowly lowered his aim and flicked the safety back on. Bryant left, but Peter made note to keep alert to him possibly circling back.

"Please forgive, Bryant. He's very protective of me, he's never really gotten over the guilt of coming home in one piece when I had to have most of my face and good deal of the rest of me reconstructed." Frost said as he reached up and tapped on his glass eye. "He's loyal to the core, but he doesn't always trust me to take care of myself...sound familiar?"

"If you launch into any variation of the 'you and I aren't so different' speech I will shoot you." Peter warned dangerously.

"I'm just trying to help."

"We don't need your kind of 'help'." Peter said firmly. "You nearly destroyed Neal with that blue diamond and now you're ruining any chance he has at a normal life by setting him on this damn Romanov treasure."

"Neal was never meant for a 'normal life'. You and I both know that." Frost said simply. "You can't change a leopard's spots, particularly not when he wears them so proudly."

"So I should just let him break into the museum?" Peter asked rhetorically.

"It's too late to stop him anyway, he's already inside by now. I just came along to ensure that he actually broke in. What happens next is up to you."

"Because of you and this ridiculous game I have to arrest him." Peter snarled.

"Do you?" Frost questioned. "He's not stealing anything, he just wants a closer look."

"He's still breaking the law."

"True, not to mention the rules of his new contract." Frost nodded. "You know there will be no getting him back on his anklet now, right? He will go directly back to prison."

"You think I don't know that?"

"What I want to make sure you fully understand is that if you do arrest Neal tonight you will *never* see him again."

"I lock Neal up and you'll be right there with the key, won't you?"

"That's right, and he will have no choice but to come with me. I will own Neal for the rest of his life."

"Isn't that what you want?"

"Not exactly."

"Then what do you want?"

Frost didn't reply right away and an uneasy silence fell over the pair. He studied Peter for a moment with his remaining eye. If Peter didn't know any better he'd say that Frost was deciding on whether or not to trust him with the whole truth here and now. In the end Frost shook his head slightly, showing that he wasn't quite ready to throw all of his caution to the wind.

"Finding the Romanov jewels is Neal's test to getting answers," Frost broke the silence "consider your decision on what to do tonight to be yours."

"Frost..."

"Choose a side Agent Burke: the absolute letter of the law or your friend."


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter Thirty seven

"So how was your evening?" Neal inquired cheerfully. "No, wait, on second thought I don't want details."

"You'd never get them even if you did." Peter assured dryly.

Neal chuckled as he took a seat across from Peter's desk where Peter was busying himself with paperwork. Neal was exhausted from the previous night but he'd had enough coffee on the way into the office to hide it. Once inside the museum Neal had easily been able to get the last Faberge that he need, at least he hoped it was the last one. Coating the inside with blood while at the museum he was able to use the same set up to get pictures of the lines hidden within. Neal had placed the egg back in the glass case when he was done, no one would ever know it had been disturbed.

Once home he had carefully scanned in copies of all four sets of circles with lines into his laptop computer. The last time he'd looked over the book he'd snapped a pic of the ornate page with his cell phone when Peter has his back turned so he had a copy of that as well. Tracing over the lines with the help of a digital tablet he'd ended up with four line images with blank backgrounds that could be rotated and laid over one another. Neal had spent an hour or so playing with the images to see if they fit together in any kind of discernible pattern. It was four am before he gave in and went to lay down for a few hours before getting up to come into the office.

Neal was a little surprised that Peter hadn't instantly launched into a conversation about Frost or at the very least suspiciously asked him what he had done with his unattended evening. Neal watched as Peter read a standard document on overtime approval that didn't need such carefully scrutiny, all it really needed was a quick glance and his signature. Neal sat quietly and continued to wait for Peter to look up at him, recalling that Peter hadn't so much as glanced up when he'd had first arrived.

Eventually Peter realized that Neal wasn't being his usual chatty self and he looked up briefly before dropping his eyes back to the page that he'd been scrutinizing. The one look told Neal everything he needed to know. Neal looked over his shoulder to make sure he'd closed the glass door behind himself. The door was shut and the rest of the White Collar division was busy with their own work in the bull pen below giving them added privacy.

"Why didn't you arrest me last night?" Neal asked quietly.

Not answering Peter finally signed the document. Closing the file he laid the pen down on top of it before he stared up at Neal. There was a look of conflict in Peter's dark eyes that sharply reminded Neal of the look Peter had given him after everything with Keller and the Nazi treasure had settled down. It had taken Peter time to decide if he even wanted to trust Neal again let alone actually makes moves towards doing so. He had that same look of defeated betrayal now.

"Peter, I'm sorr..."

"No, don't you dare apologize." Peter interrupted sounding frustrated. "I don't want to hear you say you're sorry because I know you don't mean it. One night, Neal, you couldn't behave for *one* night."

"I tried."

"Did you?"

Neal took a breath to answer and realized that there was no sense in lying. He had every intention of continuing to play Frost's game despite Peter, Mozzie, and even Bryant warning him against it. He hadn't even contemplated not going to the museum last night. Not only that but he didn't feel an ounce of guilt for having broken in even though he knew he should.

"...no." Neal admitted with a heartfelt sigh.

Having heard the simple truth Peter's expression softened. In fact his entire body language relaxed significantly. Hopeful that they were at a point where they could have a true conversation and not just an argument Neal continued.

"I can't stop, Peter, it's just part of who I am. And 'yes', I do take pride in my exploits, but please believe me when I say that there is also a side of me that desperately wants to be more than just a criminal."

"I know. I've seen that side many times." Peter acknowledged. "When you're focused in the right direction you really are something special, Neal, and certainly far more than 'just a criminal'. However the exact same thing applies for when you're faced in wrong direction as well."

"I'm good at what I do." Neal managed a slight smile.

"You are." Peter agreed with a sad smile of his own. "I just wish that Jekyll was stronger than Hyde in you."

"The whole point of that story is that good and evil exist in all of us and attempting to separate them, even with the right intentions, ultimately ends in disaster."

"Which is why I didn't arrest you last night."

Neal gave Peter a questioning look.

"What I've been doing with you these past few years clearly isn't working, for either of us really." Peter explained. "You and I have been going back and forth, cat and mouse, doing the same thing over and over again, each of us expecting different results from the other every time."

"The definition of insanity." Neal chuckled.

"Exactly. Time for something new, and as much as I hate to admit it, Frost is something new."

"Wait? You trust Frost now?"

"I don't know what to think of him any more. If he just wanted you in his grip he had the perfect chance to just sit back and let it happen. I was angry last night, there was a very good chance that I would have arrested you. Frost stepped in and made sure I knew the exact consequences of that would be."

"He threatened you?" Neal asked concerned.

"No." Peter shook his head. "He just wanted to be sure that I understood that if you ended up arrested that you would lose your choice on whether or not you wanted to work with him."

"He'd bail me out and be my new handler rather than you."

"More than that. You signed your contract with me with ink, if you ended up back in prison you'd have to sign Frost's in blood."

Neal had no question in his mind that he would have chosen just about anything Frost offered over the prospect of trying to battle for survival in prison for the next three to five years. Thinking over the new information Neal furrowed his brow as he thought over Frost's actions. Waiting to ask Neal to chose him over Peter was a far risker move than just forcing his hand. Although in the end it would lead to a better relationship if Neal chose freely, and clearly Frost had a great deal of confidence that Neal would say yes.

"I didn't want to just throw you to the wolves, even if you did rush out the first chance you got to break into the museum."

"I didn't take anything."

"The fact that you think that makes it okay proves that I have made no impression on you whatsoever after all these years."

"That's not true and you know it. I'm better for having known you, and I'd like to think I've changed you too."

"My blood pressure is higher."

The pair share a quick chuckle. As often as they came to odds with one another it was always a relief when they managed to get back on the same page again. Neal sat back and pulled his hand through his hair. He looked around Peter's office as though it was going to be the last time he got to see it. Peter watch Neal, looking like he expected him to get up and leave, possibly to never return. Neal realized that if he wanted to he could probably do exactly that.

"This isn't good-bye is it?" Neal asked.

"I hope not, but it certainly feels like it."

"I'm not ready for that."

"Neither am I, and I'm certainly not ready to be letting you make your own decisions, but here we are anyway." Peter pointed out. "Just be careful Neal. Frost has demonstrated that he is basically untouchable and even if he is a 'good guy' there will be a high price tag on anything he has to sell."

"He won't be looking to sell me anything if I can't crack this egg puzzle." Neal said ruefully. "This is a tough test."

"Please at least tell me that you have all the pieces now. I don't think I can handle turning a blind eye again while you break into every major art gallery and museum in Manhattan. I've had a hard enough time getting to where where are right now."

"I think I've got what I need, I'm just a little stuck." Neal leaned forward slightly and flashed Peter his sweetest smile.

"No." Peter replied before being asked.

"Come on, you know you want to help me. There is no reason for us to stop working together on this, now that you approve."

"I didn't say I approved." Peter corrected quickly. "I just don't strictly disapprove."

"They're the same thing." Neal teased.

"They really aren't."

"You love puzzles and history, this is both." Neal pressed. "We've always been better at figuring these things out together."

"I already passed my test, or maybe I failed it, it depends on how I look at it. In any case this treasure hunt is your audition, Neal. You're the one Frost wants."

"Actually, now that I think about it, I'm not so sure about that."

"What?"

"None of Frost moves have been about 'divide and conquer'." Neal noted. "He could have easily set us against one another. Instead he has set us up for the exact opposite this whole time."

"We've been set against one another plenty through all of this."

"But what has the end result been?" Neal pressed. "Have we ever been closer or more honest with one another than we are right now?"

"Don't make me answer that."

"You don't have to, we both already know the answer and Frost knows it too."

"Neal..."

"Frost doesn't want me, he wants us."


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter thirty-eight

"What time does Elizabeth's flight come in?"

"I don't know, it was meant to land an hour ago, but she hasn't even left DC yet due to flight delays."

"You don't think Frost..."

"Not unless he can control the weather."

"There's a scary thought."

"Severe thunderstorms are keeping the planes grounded, nothing more."

"That flight only takes an hour so we'd better get started here in case her flight gets clearance soon. I assume you're going to the airport to pick her up."

"You assume correct."

"Then we should get started."

The sun was just starting to set outside and a deep gold light poured in through the patio windows gilding squares of light on the hardwood floor. Neal had packed everything up and hidden it the night before so now he had to gather it all back up. Along with copies of the glowing photos, and the inner page of the book, Neal had a stack of books on Russian art and history to help with deciphering the code, as well as scrap paper where he'd started sketching out possible line combinations and other thoughts. Opening the laptop he pulled up the images of the lines that he'd cleaned up the previous night overlaid on the Diamond Fund page.

"I've looked into the possibilities that the lines equate to a code, or a set of coordinates." Neal said. "At first I thought maybe something to do with azimuth."

"For any azimuth coordinates to work you'd need a starting point, as well as distances to keep on the bearing."

"Which is way too much information to be hidden here so I gave up on that." Neal said as he pointed to some scratched out circles with degrees scribbled on them. "I tried equating degrees to letters in the Russian alphabet, but just got gibberish. I've tried laying them over the front page of the Diamond Exchange and turning them, but the lines don't seem to match up in any meaningful way even if I expand them out to the edge of the page."

Peter watched the screen as Neal rotated the sets of lines in an attempt to organize them. He had centered the circle of each around the icon on the page that matched the decoration on the egg they had come from. The circles were not equally spread out across the page, but no matter which direction they were rotated in the lines spreading out from the circles appeared to be random.

"This all seems like way too much work to hide few pieces of jewelry." Peter noted.

"Yeah, I've had that same thought and I have a theory about it. I think that this leads to far more than just the four pieces, they just happened to get left in the catalog by mistake when the treasure was divided. Whoever worked on this original catalog would have had access to everything and decided to hide a portion of it. No one really knows how vast the Romanov treasure was, there could be a whole vault of artifacts and art important to the Romanovs and Russian history laying in wait. At her prime Russia was literally dripping in gold and jewels."

"Dripping in gold?" Peter repeated doubtfully.

"No one built opulent palaces like Russia. Catherine's Palace had over two hundred pounds of gold that decorated the stucco and statues, and that's just on the outside of the palace. Inside every inch was covered in art, frescoes, semiprecious stones, and gold. Including of course the famous Amber Room, 13,000 pounds of amber in over three hundred colors carved into a work of art unlike any other in the world."

"That's where the music box came from."

"That's right, it was in the original Amber Room." Neal nodded. "Actually the original Amber Room was constructed in Germany in the Berlin City Palace. The King's son presented the room to Peter the Great as a gift in the early 1700s."

"One hell of a gift, I hope he asked his father first."

"It wasn't just out of the kindness of his heart, it was to help secure a Russo-Prussian alliance. Ironically enough during World War II the Germans seized the room back, it was moved to Koenigsberg and...well no one really knows what happened to it. Some say it was moved again and remains hidden, others say it was destroyed when the city was fire bombed. The music box may be one of the only surviving pieces of the original room."

"You keep saying 'original room'."

"Russia decided back in 1979 to reconstruct the room. It took over twenty years, but the Amber Room lives again at Catherine's palace, largely due to a large cash donation from a Germany company. It really is a must see."

"I'll keep that in mind if I ever find myself in Russia." Peter replied as he picked up one of the photos of the glowing lines. "You know you can't just flatten out an image on a sphere without distorting it. It's why there are so many different types of map projection of the Earth, every map has a different way of compensating for the curved shape."

"I don't think it really matters in this case since they are just lines radiating off a circle, the distortion of the angles is very minimal."

"True." Peter studied the image before comparing it to the ones Neal had done in the computer. "In each egg there is line that is slightly longer than the others."

"I noticed that, not sure what it means."

"How about 'North'?"

"A 'this end up' line, that could work." Neal nodded. "See? You're good at this."

Peter rolled his eyes at Neal's pointless use of flattery. Neal rotated all of the circles over the image of the book so that the longest lines all pointed straight up. No discernible pattern revealed itself. Neal tried expanding out all the lines to see what they crossed, thinking that it might be the fact that they eliminated other images on the page that gave the clue. There were twenty two Russian icon images sprinkled across the highly ornate page, but the lines only crossed out a few of them.

"Maybe I'm too used to thinking outside the box." Neal muttered to himself. "Perhaps we need to think inside the circle..."

"What?"

"If I draw the lines inward instead..." Neal used the line tool on the program to draw the lines running through each circle. "They all meet exactly at one point inside each circle."

"So each of the four circles has a point, four points make a square."

"No...a cross." Neal smiled. "Orthodox Christianity is a big part of Russian history."

Neal connected the top most and bottom points with a line and then did the same with the points that were across from one another. The result was a lopsided cross the arms of which met over the image of an elderly white bearded bishop wearing a omophorion holding a Gospel Book with a halo surrounding his head.

"Who is that?" Peter asked.

"That's Saint Nicholas."

"Saint Nicholas?" Peter repeated doubtfully. "As in 'Santa'?"

"Yup. He was originally known as Nikolaos of Myra or Nikolaos the Wonderworker. He had a reputation of secret gift-giving and thus was the model of the modern Santa Claus, which comes from the Dutch 'Sinterklass' which is a corrupted transliteration of Saint Nicholas. He is a very popular saint of Eastern Orthodox icons."

"What does that have to do with hiding Romanov treasure?"

"...I have absolutely no idea." Neal admitted.

Neal sat back and dragged his hands through his hair as he stared at the screen. He glanced outside and noticed that night had fallen. Neal reached out and pulled a book on Russian icon art closer and started to leaf through it. Peter continued to study the newly formed cross on the Diamond Fund page. Each of the four segments of the cross passed through an ornate symbol, other similar symbols were scattered randomly about the complicated page.

"Since we are assuming this is all supposed to be leading to a location on a map I wonder if laying it over one will help." Peter suggested.

"The four circles are clustered oddly," Neal agreed "maybe they represent iconic places and the intersection is key rather than the picture of Nikolaos."

"But what is the starting point?"

"Well as much as I'd like to use New York landmarks not every lost treasure in the world is likely to be found here." Neal admitted. "If I had to guess for a 'North' I'd have to say the Alexander Palace which was the Romanov's favourite residence in Tsarskoye Selo near St. Petersburg. The top most symbol is out of the Alexander III Commemorative egg after all."

"Worth a shot."

Neal got online and downloaded a map of Tsarskoye Selo and slipped it under the lines. Centering the top circle around the Alexander Palace he adjusted the scale of the map until the three others lined up with landmarks. Mount Parnuss, Catherine Palace lined up perfectly to the South and West, the East circle didn't seem to line up as well, but the map Neal was using was modern and the code on the eggs was close to a hundred years old. More importantly setting up the three landmarks placed the center of the cross over something very specific that fit the icon.

"That's it, Peter." Neal beamed. "We found it."

"Maybe you did, I still don't see the significance."

"Look at how nicely this lines up." Neal reached out and touched the screen. "That is the Our Lady of the Sign Church, it was frequented by the Romanovs and inside the church is a large icon of St. Nicholas that was a favorite of Alexandra's."

"You think it's in the Church?"

"I do, most likely under it, it was common for early churches to have catacombs. Also see how the lines go through the middle of these four symbols, I bet if we were standing in the Church these four symbols would reveal themselves and point the way to an entrance. We coul..."

"No."

"Peter..."

"No." Peter replied more firmly. "We are not going to Russia. End of discussion."

"You are no fun."

"I realize and accept that."

Neal chuckled. He thought about trying to argue the point further, but he knew there was no point. Peter was not going to hop on a plane for Russia for any amount of lost treasure and art. Peter sat back in his chair and stared thoughtfully at the computer screen for a moment. Eventually he sighed.

"I suppose you should tell Frost. I'm sure he can arrange to check it out."

"He's probably already on it."

"Of course, he must be tapped into your computer."

"I'd be very surprised if he wasn't. Plus I'm fairly certain he's listening."

"Listening? We tore this place apart."

Neal didn't explain further. He just picked up a piece of chalk out of the small box of various writing utensils on the table. Taking a piece of paper he rubbed the chalk against it to create a small pile of powder. Neal got up and took the paper carefully over towards the patio doors. Curious Peter got up and followed him. Once outside Neal took a deep breath and blew the chalk dust off the page. The chalk formed a cloud that revealed a red infrared beam from a glass strike listening device that was probably set on one of the buildings across the street.

"Frost has some fun toys." Neal smiled.

"That you can't wait to play with."

"Admit it, you're just as excited as I am to find out what's next."

"I'm not admitting to anything, particularly not when Frost is listening."

"Fair enough." Neal looked out over the lights of the city. "I suppose there is nothing to do now but wait for Frost's next move."

"I'm sure we'll hear from him soon."

Peter jumped slightly when his cell phone suddenly buzzed at him. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text. Sighing quietly Peter returned the text before putting the phone away. Neal gave Peter a concerned look.

"Elizabeth's flight has been delayed until tomorrow."

"Air travel, never on time always."

"Sounds about right." Peter nodded. "I'm going home to get some sleep, and I'd better not wake up in Russia."

"No promises."


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter Thirty-nine

It was closing in on five in the afternoon and Peter was finishing up the days paperwork at his desk while Neal sat on the far side looking lost in thought. It had been nearly a week since they had solved the puzzle hidden inside the eggs and there had been no further word from Frost. For the most part things had gone relatively back to normal, they'd even closed an embezzlement case today. Neal leaned forward and picked up the ball made of rubber bands off Peter's desk. Tipping his chair back on two legs Neal casually put his feet up on the glass desk as he tossed the colorful ball to himself.

"Maybe we were wrong about the church."

"Get your feet off my desk." Peter demanded chucking the pen in his hand at Neal's shoes to emphasize his point.

"Aren't you even a little bit curious about Frost?" Neal asked after putting his feet back on the floor.

"Honestly I'm just happy to have not found myself kidnapped and flown halfway across the world." Peter said as he closed the folder and added it to the pile to be filed away.

"I feel kind of like I've jilted after a third date."

"What?"

"I thought at least he'd call." Neal complained.

"He got what he wanted."

"Men." Neal huffed.

Peter was forced to smile at Neal's mock hurt lover tone. Neal pounced on the slight shift in Peter's mood and got to his feet.

"Come on, time to call it a day."

"You go." Peter replied. "I've still got some loose ends to tie up here."

"Don't stay too late, now that Elizabeth is home I'm sure she'd like to actually see you once in a while."

Peter shooed Neal away wordlessly with a quick motion of his hands. Neal bent down and picked up the pen that Peter had thrown at him and offered it back to him. Peter was just about to thank Neal for returning the pen when a call came in on the sixth line on his phone. Peter hadn't even been aware that there was a sixth line. Seeing the concern that had passed over Peter's face Neal stayed. The phone rang several more times.

"Are you going to answer that?" Neal asked.

"I'd rather not." Peter replied as he reluctantly reached for the phone. "Special Agent Peter Burke." He answered formally.

Neal watched Peter's expression carefully as the caller spoke to him. Whoever it was had instantly captured Peter's full attention. The way he pulled his shoulders back and sat up slightly straighter after just a few seconds on the call told Neal that whoever it was Peter recognized the voice and respected it. Peter listened to the caller for a solid minute before responding.

"Yes, Sir." Peter said simply.

Peter took the receiver away from his ear and stared at it for a moment before slowly hanging it up. Neal was doing his best to contain his smile as he waited impatiently for Peter to tell him what the short call was about. Ignoring Neal Peter tapped his finger against the desk as he thought over the unexpected call.

"Who was it?" Neal finally asked to snap Peter out of his trance.

"The Director."

"Of what? The FBI?"

"Either that or Frost playing his phone voice mimic trick."

"What did he want?"

Peter reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose with a sigh. "Apparently there is a car waiting for us downstairs."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

"Nothing I guess." Peter said in defeat. "Let's go."

"I'm proud of you, Peter. I figured it would take a lot more to convince you."

"I risk everything not going if that really was a direct order from the Director, and if it was just Frost trying to be cute he won't just give up after one try so I might as well go now."

"Both good points." Neal smiled brightly.

Peter flashed Neal a sour look before getting to his feet. He unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk where he kept his shoulder harness and sidearm while he was doing paperwork. Pulling the harness on Peter did an automatic quick check of his weapon before securing it in place. Neal didn't think that being armed was necessary but he didn't say anything about it. Putting on his jacket Peter had an expression that looked like he was suiting up for a battle he knew he was going to lose.

"Relax, Peter." Neal encouraged. "I have a good feeling about this."

"I don't."

"Did you have a good feeling about me when we first met?"

"No." Peter admitted.

"See? And look how well things turned out."

Peter took a breath to retort, but he stopped himself. In a lot of ways Neal was right. There had certainly been missteps along the way, but all in all Peter couldn't imagine what life would have been like if he'd turned down Neal's proposal and left him to serve the rest of his extended sentence out in prison. He stepped around the desk to stand in front of Neal.

"Peter?"

"Neal, you are probably the greatest risk I've ever taken, and there have definitely been times that I've questioned my judgment on agreeing to this arrangement, however I don't regret it, in fact it was one of my better decisions."

"Are we having a 'moment' here?" Neal teased.

"We were." Peter sighed.

Neal smiled and drew Peter into a warm embrace that he momentarily returned before pulling away. With all the excitement of a puppy heading out on a new adventure Neal headed towards the door. Although not as eager to see Frost as Neal Peter was less uneasy about it than he had been a moment ago and he followed Neal to the elevators. Bryant was waiting for them in the front lobby dressed in a well tailored limo driver uniform. He stepped up to the pair and offered them a nod in greeting.

"You're Frost's chauffeur now?" Peter asked.

"I'm whatever he needs me to be." Bryant replied seriously.

"Sounds like you're deeply loyal to him." Neal noted. "You were warning me to steer clear of him the last time we met, as though he was some kind of threat."

"Jealousy." Bryant admitted with a sheepish grin. "I foolishly thought he was replacing me with you. I'm a little territorial about my partner."

"There's nothing wrong with that." Neal said as he gave Peter a playful nudge.

"I'm your handler, Neal, not your partner."

"You don't mean that." Neal smiled.

"Even I know that's not true." Bryant chuckled. "We should go, even with diplomatic plates people tend to get irritated when you park outside the Federal Building too long."

Bryant lead the pair outside to the sleek black limo that was waiting out on the street. Taking his role to heart Bryant opened the door for his guests with a flourish. Neal thanked him and stepped inside. Peter hesitated to join him feeling like he was stepping into a wolf's den.

"At least hear him out, Agent Burke." Bryant suggested.

"And if I don't like what I hear?"

"We're not murders if that's your concern."

"That is my concern. I lost a good Agent because of you."

"No one regrets Agent Siegel's death more than we do." Bryant said solemnly. "He's actually the main reason you're here now. We've gotten into bed with some less than desirable people in the past because we needed their skills."

"But you can't trust them to hold your same ideals. Is that it?"

"Exactly. Which is why we're switching tactics and taking risks to build a better team instead."

Peter studied Bryant for a moment. He'd come across before as someone who couldn't take anything too seriously. However he spoke now with a gravitas that appeared genuine. With everything Frost had done to try and help Neal so far Peter decided that at the very least there had been an acknowledgment that the cost of doing business as they had before was too high. Peter joined Neal and Frost inside the dark interior of the limo and Bryant closed the door behind him.

"Thank you for joining us, Agent Burke," Frost greeted "I know it wasn't an easy decision."

"Where are we going?" Peter asked.

"Nowhere in particular. Bryant will just drive us around until we are done talking and drop you both off back here."

Peter and Neal both gave Frost a questioning look.

"I don't have an office in New York." Frost explained.

"We could use mine." Peter offered.

"This probably doesn't come as much of a surprise but I really preferred to control the environment we meet in for this." Frost replied. "Besides, this office has a wet bar. Can I interest either of you in anything?"

"No thank you." Peter replied.

"I'm fine." Neal declined as well.

"My stomach is a little too nervous for alcohol as well." Frost admitted. "Before we go any further..."

Frost reached over to a black box that was sitting on the seat next to him. He carefully pulled out the glittering sapphire and diamond diadem that had been in the photos in the Diamond Fund and offered it to Neal. The black and white photo had been impressive enough, but to see it glittering with it's full glory was truly a sight to behold.

"Breathtaking." Neal beamed in awe as carefully took the diadem. "What do you think, Peter?"

"I think for a grown man you are far too easy distracted by shiny objects." Peter replied.

"This isn't just a shiny object, Peter, this is a piece of history." Neal explained before offering it back to Frost. "It really is beautiful. Were all four pieces there?"

"Yes. And just as you predicted far more." Frost put the diadem away and handed over a file folder. "They are still cataloging everything."

Neal opened the file and leafed through the pictures of the catacombs below the church. There was everything down in the maze of tombs from paintings of the Romanov family, to diamond studded corsets along with a vast collection of objet d'art. Neal handed the photos over to Peter and he inspected them with mild interest.

"This is amazing." Neal smiled. "I wish I could have been there."

"I strongly considered shanghaiing you both for a quick trip to Russia." Frost chuckled. "But I thought better of it."

"Shame." Neal said wistfully.

"What's going to happen to this find?" Peter asked.

"It's already in Russian hands, it will be all over the news by tomorrow. Sorry we couldn't give you credit for the find, we like to keep a lower profile than that. The Kremlin actually gifted the diadem to the US in thanks for the find, it will be headed to the Smithsonian tomorrow. I figured you and Neal deserved to see it first hand though."

"Thank you." Neal said sincerely.

"Honestly I'm far more interested in who you are." Peter said, not as easily drawn away from the present by the past.

"Fair enough. I'm Chief Special Agent Devon Frost, I'm a member of a very elite team in charge of Special Recovery Operations. We are a highly specialized and task driven organization somewhat similar to the PAG under the NCS."

"I should have known." Peter sighed.

"Peter?" Neal asked concerned.

"Frost is CIA."

"I used to be CIA. It's far more complicated than that now..."


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter Forty

Years before Frost had even heard Caffrey's name he found himself laying on a dry dirt floor in a mostly shelled out building complex in the middle of Afghanistan. The zip ties keeping his wrists bound behind his back had long turned his hands numb, but they were the least of his problems at the moment. As a member of the Special Operations Group under the CIA, Frost and his team had been working closely with the Northern Alliance to help undermine and overthrow both Taliban and Al-Qaeda leaders. He wasn't sure which group he'd fallen into the hands of at the moment, in the end it didn't really matter the result were the same.

Frost didn't wear or carry any kind of identification the way a member of the USAF would, but it wasn't hard to peg him and his highly armed team as at least hostiles. The men holding him had spent a very long day trying to pry information from him. His right foot was shattered from the beating to the sole he had taken from a heavy pipe. It was a good way to cause pain without risking accidentally killing your subject and came with the added bonus of making it harder for them to escape. As difficult as it had been to bear Frost was just grateful that they didn't seem willing to risk their one working car battery on him.

Struggling to remember how exactly he'd ended up in this situation Frost found a large gap in his memory. His mental record went from heading out in the morning past the poppy fields towards the mountains in order to meet with a small group of Northern Alliance members to waking up a captive. The fact that he was missing hours worth of time and had no recollection of an ambush lead him to believe it must have been some sort of explosive device either an IED or RPG that had left him with a concussion. The fact that the side of his face had been bashed in when he'd woken supported that theory. He managed to pry his swollen eye lid open, but he had no vision out of that side.

"Not that there's anything worth looking at." Frost sighed to himself.

Swallowing hard against his sandpaper throat Frost prayed that the rest of his team was either safe or dead. He certainly hoped they were the former of the two options, but he'd also rather things be over quickly for them than have them in his position. Frost didn't want to think about how long he was going to spend being tortured before he finally found release in death. Despite the depictions seen in the movies of the CIA he didn't have any cyanide hiding in his back molar. He didn't even dare dream about the possibility of rescue, as far as the government was concerned he didn't exist while he was out in the field.

Closing his remaining good eye Frost drifted in and out of consciousness until he was woken by someone quietly entering the room and closing the door behind them. The only light came from the moon splashing sliver into the room. His vision was already compromised so all he could see was the outline of a tall muscular figure. With his heart racing Frost laid still, preparing to lash out and kick at his uninvited guest when they drew closer.

"Frost..."

"...Bryant?"

"I'm here." Bryant assured in a whisper as he knelt down gently placed his hand on Frost's chest. "Come on, we gotta go home."

"Home sounds good. Although I'd settle for anywhere that isn't here."

"I hear that."

"How did you find me?"

"I was able to get to our Alliance friends, they are set to start a fire fight any minute now, that's going to be our cue to haul ass out of here."

Bryant used a small set of wire cutters to cut through the zip ties that were slicing into Frost's wrists. With the bindings cut he rubbed at his wrists while Bryant pulled out a flashlight did a quick assessment of the rest of his injuries. Bryant's breath hissed across his teeth as he inspected the side of Frost's face, but he didn't say anything. It was Frost's swollen and broken foot that concerned him the most. Taking out a small med pack he got to work jabbing Frost with a variety of pre-loaded needles, one of which seemed to contain morphine.

"Where's the rest of the team?"

"Taylor and Cohen were killed instantly in the blast," Bryant reported heavily as he started to wrap Frost's foot in a supportive bandage "I was only able to keep Hendricks alive for a few hours, and Carter died this morning."

Frost muttered a few mournful profanities. "Are you injured?"

"Nothing serious, few broken ribs, Taylor shielded me from the worst of it. I'm sure it's why they left me behind when they took you, I was covered in Taylor's blood I must have looked dead or beyond saving."

"I'm sorry..."

"It wasn't your fault. Come on, we should try and get a head start, the Alliance is going to start the attack soon and we are just as likely to get caught in the cross fire as we are to be shot on purpose."

"Right." Frost nodded. "Let's go."

"For a second there I thought we were going to have the whole 'leave me behind, save yourself' argument." Bryant teased in an attempt to lighten the dire mood.

"Hell no," Frost smiled "don't you dare leave me, you're getting my ass out of here if you have to carry me."

"That's the spirit." Bryant smiled and leaned in to kiss Frost's forehead.

"Besides, I wouldn't insult you like that." Frost said seriously. "You came all this way for me, the least I can do is be grateful."

"You do owe me."

"Now and forever, but I'm good for it."

"I know."

Lost in thoughts of the past Frost fell silent after having shared his story with Neal and Peter. It wasn't something he shared often, in fact other than Bryant and a few select Superiors he hadn't recounted it to anyone. Driving with the privacy screen down Bryant glanced over his shoulder at Frost to make sure he was okay, Frost smiled sadly at his friend to let him know that he was as good as could be expected. Nodding to Frost Bryant turned his attention back to the road. Bryant had earned the Distinguished Intelligence Cross, the highest of CIA awards of valor, for his efforts. The medal sat in a box in the back of his desk drawer where it never saw the light of day. Bryant hadn't wanted a medal, he wanted to have been able to save more of his teammates.

Neal and Peter had fallen silent as well, it wasn't a story that was easy to reply to. Frost actually appreciated their quiet response. The last thing Frost wanted to hear from either of them was apology or any attempts at empathy. He had only shared it with them in the first place to help them understand that they weren't just dealing with some high powered spook who had only ever played cloak and dagger games from the safety of some basement office.

"Needless to say my paramilitary career was over." Frost broke the heavy silence. "Luckily my service to my country wasn't. I was approached by a joint effort between CIA, FBI, and USAF to help start a very unique team. The Special Recovery Operations, which has one basic goal: money."

"Money?" Neal repeated in surprise.

"America is in a war unlike any it's ever been in, so we need to fight it in new ways. It's no longer Us vs Them, it's Us vs 'They'. However, it's almost impossible to tell these days who 'they' are, there are pockets of threats every where, and that's not the kind of enemy that our military is set up to fight. Taliban, ISIS, Al-Qaeda, Hamas, Ansaru, the list goes on and on. There is only one way to undermine all of these groups at once, one weakness they all share: funding. Conflict cost money, there is a reason why the Defense Budget has jumped from 300 billion a year to over 800 billion a year in the aftermath of 9/11. Every dollar we keep out of their hands weakens their position and reduces the threat. "

"So your target of choice is...lost art?" Peter asked doubtfully.

"History sells, and in that game we are the ounce of prevention that is worth a pound of cure." Frost said proudly. "Art is easy to transport and attracts the attention of powerful men who have nothing better to do than spend money, most don't care who they give it to as long as they get the wall trophy that they want. Art crime is the fourth largest money making crime world wide. Do you have any idea how much of the black market sales of art and jewels goes to funding terrorism?"

"Considering that a single rare finds is often worth millions I'd have to venture that the answer is a frighteningly high." Neal said.

"The actual figures of course are difficult to pin point, but since our founding we have prevented over twenty billion dollars in sales. It may seem like a small drop in the bucket compared to the US spending, but it's a huge chunk as far as terrorist groups are concerned. Beyond that we have restored some of the greatest lost works to their rightful governments."

"Gaining favor in the process." Peter added.

"Good gifts make for good friends, and the stronger the bonds between friends the more willing they are to risk themselves to help one another. You two know that better than most."

Neal and Peter glanced at one another and Frost was pleased to see that neither one of them could come up with an argument to his last statement. Neal had the perfect chance to run and be set for life when he'd been sitting on a mountain of Nazi treasure but he'd stayed put. Peter had risked his career in defense of Neal on several occasions in belief that he could change for the better rather than just toss him back into the prison system. These weren't the actions of two men simply in a court mandated arrangement.

"What exactly do you want from us?" Peter asked point blank.

"In simple terms: Caffrey, I'm offering you a chance to use your talents in a more constructive manner, in hopes of keeping you from being part of the problem."

"I have never bought or sold from terrorists." Neal said defensively.

"Where is your Sea of Galilee forgery? And don't bother denying that you've done one." Frost said firmly. "Right now, where is it?"

"I don't know." Neal admitted.

"It's in the basement of the Federal Building in Washington, one of my teams stopped a member of Hamas from selling it to a filthy rich Emirati real estate mogul." Frost informed him coldly. "We know it's yours because you left a partial print in the oil."

"I never intended..."

"I don't care what your intentions were, there are consequences to what you do, Neal." Frost interrupted. "Every time you put something like that out into the market there is always the chance that someone with malicious intent is going to profit off it."

Neal took a breath to protest but stopped himself.

"I know you didn't mean any harm, Neal." Frost sighed. "But these are the facts. I am very interested in having you on our side and give you a chance to find art rather than steal it. We need someone with a criminal mind set and connections. We are actively working on finding lost and stolen works both known and legendary. We have a vault of puzzles like the one found in the Faberge Egg. We need help with both finding these works and bringing down some of the world's highest class art thieves. Which is where your talents come into play, Agent Burke."

"I already have a job catching art thieves."

"And you're good at what you do, among the best." Frost smiled warmly. "Which is why we really want you reconsider a variation on the promotion that you turned down. The Art Crime Team in Washington that focuses purely on high profile art theft needs a new Section Chief. You'll have fourteen highly skilled Agents under your charge, not to mention the perfect environment for you and Neal to assist us in the SRO."

"Assist you?" Peter questioned suspiciously.

"I know you're not as into globe trotting as Neal, and honestly a majority of the work we do is done right here with a few field trips. Bryant can't out abroad with just me, I can't watch Bryant's back when I can't even watch my own left side. Any time Neal's leads take him out of the country he'll have us, although you are more than welcome to join us."

"I can't just leave White Collar."

"Of course you can. The FBI has plenty of talented Agents chomping at the bit for a shot at the New York office. Besides, be honest Peter, how much of you attention has the White Collar division even gotten lately? When was the last time you talked to Jones and didn't lie to him? You do know he's your second in command, right? Instead there seems to be someone else you've been counting on and turning to for the past few years."

Peter looked to Neal who smiled brightly at him. Frost had known from the start that this was going to be a hard sell with Peter, but he was still listening and that was very good sign as far as Frost was concerned.

"Peter," Neal chimed in "I think this is an amazing opportunity here, for us both. There is nowhere for either of us to go in New York, you said yourself that something needs to change."

"I meant it more for you."

"Your career is stalling in New York as well."

"You can't honestly want to be part of operations like the one Frost pulled on us with Rachel."

"That was a trial operation, the first time we tried 'outsourcing', and the reason we are here now it avoid that kind of arrangement going forward." Frost admitted. "We needed a woman to get close to Neal and we are basically an all male show."

"Classic 'Honey pot'." Neal said ruefully.

"That was the original idea. As much as I hate to admit it as good as we are she was better, and crazy to boot. Everything went wrong so fast. I promise you we were not the ones to release her from prison, she got away from us in every sense of the word. Rachel was a rabid dog and I take full responsibility for everything that happened. However, all of what I'm doing now is in an effort to ensure that mistakes of the past are not repeated. Yes, I will be asking Neal to blatantly break some laws in our pursuits, and I will be expecting you to turn a blind eye, but I will never place you in a position to work with anyone like Rachel. We are about saving lives, preventing terrorist attack home and abroad, and making allies with powerful countries which saves military lives."

Frost paused while he gauged Peter's reaction. He couldn't blame the Agent for being hesitant. Beyond the fact that there was always a bit of friction between FBI and CIA he had lost one of his own. Collateral damage was always unfortunate, but it was also part of all law enforcement realities. Frost looked to Neal, it was easy to see that he was interested, and that was helping.

"This is an all or nothing deal, Agent Burke." Frost continued. "The Directors don't fully trust Neal on his own. The only thing we've ever seen that even comes close to tempering his 'less desirable traits' is you."

"He brings out my good side." Neal chuckled.

"That he does." Frost nodded.

"Neal...you really want to do this?" Peter asked seriously.

"I do. Peter I love what we do, this is a chance for me to build an actual future with it, to be something more than just a CI. I can't be a prisoner of the FBI forever."

"Neal, it sounds like they are still expecting me to be your handler."

"No, that's not what I'm offering at all. Neal won't need a handler, he'll need a partner." Frost assured. "If we go forward I will need to borrow Neal for the next five months, which will give you a chance to settle in DC."

"Hang on, 'borrow me'?" Neal asked warily. "Why do I not like the sound of that?"

"Five months...wait..." Peter furrowed his brow in thought. "No. You can't mean..."

"I do." Frost assured. "It will prove Neal's commitment and help level out the power dynamic between you, something you two sorely need."

"Frost you can't be serious." Peter said doubtfully.

"I am dead serious. I've already got it all set up." Frost confirmed. "He's going to do great, he's been studying under the best."

"What are you two talking about?" Neal asked.

"He is a convicted felon." Peter pointed out.

"Amazingly enough that is not news to me." Frost chuckled. "I pulled some strings, it's what I do best. You two agree to this and Neal has a clean slate. Trust me, this will be good for him."

"Seriously, what is going on?" Neal demanded.

"I want to send you to Quantico." Frost smiled brightly.

"Quanitco?"

"To become an Agent."

"Seriously?" Neal reflected Peter's doubt.

"Seriously. No other CI has worked as closely with an Agent as long as you have, consider it having been an apprenticeship."

"Agent Caffrey..." Neal smiled. "I like the sound of that."

"It's more than just a title Neal, it's a responsibility." Peter warned. "Do not take this lightly."

"Do you think I can do it?"

Frost held his breath while he waited for Peter to respond. He knew that more than anything Peter's vote of confidence would make or break this deal. If he didn't believe Neal could change then the conversation was likely to go down hill from here and the whole thing would fall apart. Peter wasn't quick to answer, he thought seriously on it while he stared at Neal.

"Neal...I think, actually I *know*, that you can do anything you put your mind to." Peter replied honestly. "The Academy will be the hardest thing you've ever done, but if you want it, I know you are more than capable. Just make sure it's what you really want."

"It is. But what about you?" Neal asked. "If this is all or nothing I need you to be as willing to work with me as I am with you. You won't be my handler any more. Are you ready for a change like that?"

"Graduate the Academy, Neal, and I will proudly call you my partner."

Neal brightened with a new enthusiasm that even forced Peter to smile. Frost leaned forward and offered his hand to each of them in turn to shake. Frost studied the newest additions to his team with pride. He opened the mini bar and without asking handed out glasses to each of them. Pouring a small amount of brandy into the tumblers he held up his own glass to seal the deal with a toast.

"You two have already done good things together...it's time to do great things."


	41. Chapter 41

Epilogue

Peter sat in his office looking over a report for one of his Agents on a recently recovered Cezanne. It had been months but Peter still wasn't used to looking over his shoulder and seeing DC rather than the jagged skyline of New York. With the entire National Stolen Art File on caseload there wasn't any down time despite the sometimes painfully slow progress on many of the works and the almost overwhelming amount of missing pieces. Frost had kept in contact and Peter had already arranged for a few of the recovered pieces to end in SRO hands for return to their respective governments.

Despite the new responsibilities of Section Chief so far he had managed to make it home in time for dinner with El almost every night and that was a change she enjoyed. Frost had assured him that they didn't expect him to keep his new role a secret from his spouse, they had vetted her too and trusted her to back her husband's choices. The National Gallery had been thrilled to have her full time and they had settled well into a new home. Peter had just closed the file when there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

Peter was surprised when Neal entered the office. Quantico was only an hour drive away, and they had seen plenty of one another over the past five months. However tomorrow was graduation and Peter had expected Neal to be busy right up until the ceremony.

"Neal." Peter got up to greet Neal. "I didn't expect you in until Monday."

"Frost pushed things through a little early for me, let me meet with the Director personally. I'm not really one for official ceremonies."

"Does that mean..." Peter trailed off.

Neal reached into his inner breast pocket and pulled out a slim black wallet that he handed to Peter. Opening the badge Peter couldn't help but smile.

"Never thought you'd see that did you?" Neal chuckled.

"Not in a million years."

"You were right, it was the hardest thing I've ever done."

"I'm proud of you, Agent Caffrey."

"Thank you. It's been a while since I've been able to honestly say this, but...I'm proud of myself."

Peter handed the badge back. Neal took the black wallet and tucked it carefully back into its place over his heart. Neal looked around the office and slipped his hands into his pockets. Peter knew it was impossible to tell yet, but he felt like there had been a true change in Neal from his time at the Academy. He had always given off an air of confidence, but now he looked truly sure of himself.

"Do you have a case in mind yet to cut your new teeth on?" Peter asked.

"I was thinking perhaps we should tackle the Gardner Heist."

"Go big or go home?"

"Exactly. A whole generation has gone by and not a single piece from that heist has ever resurfaced. The one of the greatest art mysteries of our time."

"I happen to have a file on the Gardner, in fact I have an entire filing cabinet on it."

"Then let's get to work...partner."


End file.
